


Bring the peace that suffering redeems

by Swimmer963



Series: A Song for Two Voices [11]
Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Anger, Angst, Communication Failure, Dark, Escalation, F/M, Feelings, Fights, Grief/Mourning, InfoSec, Logistics, M/M, Relationship Problems, The Author is A Terrible Person, War, coordination problems, epistemic status, everything is hard, everything that can go wrong will, group rationality, leadership is hard, nobody has enough sleep, rationality, reasoning under uncertainty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 135,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swimmer963/pseuds/Swimmer963
Summary: Herald-Mage Vanyel has yet to make a decision on what to do about Leareth, his destined enemy and yet almost a friend, and now he - and Valdemar - are running out of time.
Relationships: Jisa/Treven (Valdemar), Vanyel Ashkevron/Stefen
Series: A Song for Two Voices [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936480
Comments: 129
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Since it turns out I have no self-control, you guys are getting this update even sooner than expected!

_She knelt in the Heralds’ Temple, before the altar, a candle between her hands. The air was heavy and sweet with incense, the rafters shadowy above her head._

_With shaking hands, she reached to light the candle from one of the others. Such a little flame. Not big enough, surely, to honour any life. Certainly not the life of the man to whom she had knelt and sworn her first oath._

_She set the candle in amongst the others. “For King Randale,” she breathed, and she bent her head and wept._

Dara woke with a sob. Her cheeks were already wet, her nose running into the pillow.

 _That was Foresight._ It was unmistakeable in its vividness. She still half-felt like she was in the Temple of Kernos, on Sovvan-night.

 _:?:_ A sleepy Mindtouch. _:Dara, what’s wrong?:_

She couldn’t find any words, so she just rolled into Tran’s arms, giving in to the tears.

 _:Chosen?:_ Rolan’s mindvoice floated in from a respectful distance. Helplessly, Dara parted her shields and held up the image.

 _:Oh. I see:_ The overtones were thick and heavy, something more alien than pain. _:I am sorry, Chosen:_

With Tran’s warmth weight against her, Dara was finally able to push back the grief and reach for his mind. _:Foresight:_ she sent. _:Tran, I saw–:_ Even in Mindspeech, she choked on the words. _:Randi’s death. Sometime before next Sovvan:_

She felt him stiffen. _:Oh, gods:_

Too soon, she thought, pointlessly. _It’s not fair._

It was nearly Midwinter again; soon the year would be 810. Almost a year since Shavri’s return from k’Treva, which still felt like the final road-marker toward…something, somewhere, but none of them knew what destination.

And now another signpost. Dara’s dream wasn’t the first. There were other long-range Foreseers in Haven, and two of them had come to her unprompted in the last week. Their visions had been vaguer, and it hadn’t felt real until she Saw it herself.

It wasn’t really a surprise. Despite the Healers’ best efforts, Need included, Randi had been declining rapidly this year, and another winter, especially one as brutal as this year promised, would be hard on him. Still, he had been ill for close to a decade, and this was their first indication that his remaining time was measured in months and not years.

It wasn’t, she reminded herself, the worst news they could have received. A fresh Foresight dream that showed Leareth marching on Valdemar would have been, in objective terms, a hundred times more worrying.

And yet.

* * *

The dawn was a thin bright line on the horizon, rays creeping across the Palace grounds, painting the grain of the snow in pink and gold. It was promising to be the first clear day in weeks; the snows had started even before Sovvan this year, and the last ten days had consisted of relentless blizzards. At least Medren had made it back intact from his Journeyman trial, though it couldn’t have been a fun trek.

Vanyel stood with his feet rooted on the path, sweat drying on his skin, watching the sky, deep in thought.

Another Sovvan, come and gone; even now, for him it was that rather than Midwinter that felt like the true turn of the year. _Twenty years since I lost you, ashke._ The year was nearly 810. The twelfth year of Randi’s reign. Vanyel’s thirty-sixth name day had passed not long ago, and for the first time in his adult life, he had actually celebrated it, or more accurately Stef had – Stef, who was eighteen now, though he was already claiming to be ‘probably almost nineteen’.

 _We’ve had almost two years._ The longest relationship in his life to date. It wasn’t easy – it was a constant battle for both of them to carve out time together, and even now he managed to put his foot in it every so often – but it was so much more than worth it.

In the mirror, Vanyel’s hair was entirely silver, and had grown out enough to brush his shoulders. In the ice dream it was much longer and still bore streaks of black. Startling every time, and maybe another sign that their true fate, whatever it was, had diverged a long time ago.

A more topical thought drifted to the surface. _I hope the Icefoxes are managing in this awful weather._ Randi had discussed calling the mercenary troop home, but they _did_ claim winter survival as one of their specialties, and their last report hadn’t seemed concerned. After close to a year of exploring, they hadn’t found any sign of another pass, nor any of Leareth’s people, but they had produced detailed maps of the terrain, and discovered half a dozen places where it would be possible for a small, lightly-burdened party to cross safely and unseen.

Randi had wanted to send them north of the mountains, but after several candlemarks worth of argument with Vanyel, had left their orders as they were.

 _:Chosen:_ Yfandes, affectionate and disapproving. _:You’ll catch cold standing out there:_

Belatedly, he realized he was shivering, and the slush was soaking through his boots. Not the time to be woolgathering; he had a long, busy day ahead.

Hard to believe it was coming on a year since his first conversation with Jisa about Leareth. The first of many. An irreversible step forward; Randi’s admission that they couldn’t afford to wait until his daughter was grown.

In all their prior discussions, Vanyel had never raised, even in his own mind, the consideration that _he_ would find Jisa’s input valuable, though he had brought up Treven’s need for a confidante. Jisa was easy to talk to in the way Stef was; she never got upset about it, never looked at him like he’d lost his mind, just tried to understand. Since that initial discussion, she had dived into reading every ethics treatise she could lay her hands on, somehow fitting it in between all her other commitments – well, she was an even faster reader than Vanyel was.

Maybe more than was warranted, it gave him hope. _I can’t do this alone._ Until recently, it hadn’t felt like anyone else was able or willing to meet Leareth in the middle, to truly consider the hypothetical world where he was in the right. Randi couldn’t – his duty to Valdemar weighed too heavily on him. Savil tried her best, but she admitted herself that her mind wasn’t flexible enough. Shavri had come the closest, and yet. _I’m too afraid to be curious_ , she had confessed to him.

With all of them, there were thoughts he couldn’t voice.

Stef had been the first person willing to follow him all the way, and Vanyel would never stop being grateful for it – but at the same time, he remembered their conversation almost two years ago. _I’m not a good person, Van._ Stef, deep down, really did thing of himself as a selfish bastard, out for his own interests, who cared about the world only because his lifebonded partner did. And the sole fact of their lifebond meant that Stef wasn’t objective.

Jisa was different. It came so naturally to her to care about all the people, everywhere – hells, not even just people, she was the one who had prodded him into weighing the welfare of animals at all, and at seven years old.

It made him think of that long-ago exchange with his sister. _You’ve always had more imagination than me. Van, maybe it does make you a better person. That you didn’t need to have your face shoved in it, to know that war’s a damned waste and a tragedy and all the songs of glory are lies._ With Jisa, he was on the other side of that.

His daughter was doing very well for herself; she would be finishing the last of the Heraldic curriculum at Midwinter, in just a few days, and months before her fifteenth name day. She had no official role in the Senior Circle, of course, but Vanyel knew she helped Treven prepare for all of his meetings. Like Shavri had done for Randi, for years and years – but unlike her mother, who had hated the work and done it out of love and duty until that well finally ran dry, Jisa actually wanted it.

 _She wants everything,_ Shavri had said to him over supper once, wonder in her eyes. _The power to change the world. For all the mistakes I made, at least I never extinguished that spark._

Still lost in thought, it took Vanyel a moment to realize he was standing in front of his own door. _I’d better hurry up and bathe._ He was supposed to be meeting Savil in half a candlemark to reinforce their mage-fortifications along the western border.

His aunt still worked the northern border alone, or with Katri and Nubia, both of whom were strong enough for basic Web-work. Sometimes Jisa helped, when it could be done discreetly and didn’t involve any of the other Heralds; she had shown a strong aptitude for Web-work.

Their second pair of new Herald-Mages, awakened in k’Treva shortly after Midsummer, had only arrived back in Haven a month ago, and were still learning their way around their new Gifts. Randi had granted Vanyel and Stef two weeks of leave to accompany them there, on the grounds that someone need to Gate anyway, and Stef was the only one other than Shavri who could painblock for it. It had been a blessed break from all the rest, some time to focus on each other. And too soon over.

Sometimes, lately, it felt like everything was over too soon. Not enough, never enough…but that was an especially pointless feeling to dwell on.

Brightstar had followed the Heralds back to Haven; once again, the Vale was too cramped to hold him. He had spent a stint on the Karsite Border, until the snows came, dealing with the years-old residue of blood-magic that still lingered in a few places. Usually it would be reabsorbed into the local mage-energies, he said, but there were still regions where no one lived – the fields were salted, unusable, and the locals feared angry ghosts. Lack of inhabitants or plant life slowed the natural cycles, and since even the un-Gifted tended to feel uneasy in regions tainted with blood-power, it was a self-reinforcing pattern.

 _:Don’t forget you’re having lunch with him:_ Yfandes sent with a mental chuckle. _:He came and chatted with me in the stables this morning. Says he’s got some new idea about the Spirit Plane to share with you:_

Which, of course, brought Vanyel’s thoughts back to Leareth.

Their last conversation had been well over a month ago; they had, yet again, discussed a few hypothetical plans, which Vanyel had brought to Randi and Treven, entirely expecting them to be rejected. Other than that, they had talked over the initial stages of Leareth’s god-creation plan enough that Vanyel thought he finally had a grasp on it. With its lower risk and much, much lower power requirements, it wasn’t really the part he took issue with.

He had made no progress either on finding an alternate power source for the rest, or on trusting Leareth enough that he might be willing to float the idea of using Urtho’s weapons.

At least they weren’t at war. Yet. _As long as we’re still talking, there’s hope._

* * *

“Almost there,” Shavri coaxed. “That’s it. Just a little more.”

Randi’s eyes were screwed shut, sweat beading his brow – not from pain, Stef was already playing in the corner, but from sheer exertion. Shavri was supporting him from one side, her hand reaching under his arm and resting firmly on his upper back, Van’s fingers laced with hers from the other side. The well-padded throne was right beside them; he didn’t even have to take a step, just turn on the spot.

Finally, though, Randi’s breath puffed out as he sagged back in his wheeled chair. _:I can’t:_ Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at her. _:I’m sorry:_

“Shh, hey, it’s all right.” She bent to kiss his forehead, the skin like tissue-paper against her lips. In the last year, Randi’s hair had lost all trace of colour, and there wasn’t much of it left. Even the warm brown of his eyes seemed faded. Like he was turning to glass, soon to be entirely transparent.

Sometime tonight, she had to break the news of Dara’s vision to him. He already knew about the other Foreseers’ reports, but they had less impressive records than Dara. 

Before next Sovvan.

The Council had, on Dara’s repeated insistence, broken with tradition enough to cancel the Midwinter visit to Sunhame and host Karis in Haven instead. Midsummer had cost Randi weeks of recovery time, and he had so much less in reserve now.

 _If only they would let him hand over the throne._ It wasn’t that Randi was too incapacitated for the work, exactly; despite the fatigue, his mind was mostly still clear, and he had all the experience which poor, terrified Treven still lacked. But it took so much out of him – and Treven was inevitably going to inherit when he was far from ready – and it felt bitterly unfair, to lose the last months with her lifebonded to tedious meetings and politics.

Maybe she would bring it up again, but the thought of repeating that argument made her feel so tired.

Focus. _:Van?:_ she sent. _:Can we manage this, or should we get one of the Guards to help?:_

Vanyel’s eyes flicked to Randi’s withered frame. _:I think we’ll be all right:_

“Randi, love, we’ll help you out.” Shavri bent, slipping one arm under his knees and linking her hand with Vanyel’s. Hands linked into a chair, she counted down for them, and they lifted.

His weight barely strained her at all. So little left. They eased him down into the throne, and Shavri knelt to adjust his legs against the footrests, making sure none of the padding was bunched under him. His skin was so fragile, even a seam pressed against his leg would leave a welt. A candlemark or two was the most he could manage sitting up at all.

She tucked a warm rug across his lap; he was always cold, lately; and then kissed his forehead again. _:Comfortable?:_

_:It’ll do:_

He’d had new Whites tailored in the autumn, but even with all the extra layers underneath for warmth, the cloth hung loose. Shavri retrieved the slim gold circlet from behind the throne and set it carefully on his brow.

Randi rolled his eyes. _:I don’t look like much of a King, do I?:_ Still, he closed his eyes, breathing in and out – and when he opened them, it was like a light had switched on. “I’m ready. Send them in.”

Shavri stepped back and positioned herself behind and to the right of the throne. An afterthought, which was how she wanted it – a small woman in Healer’s robes, hair greying, not unattractive but close enough to middle age that men’s eyes slid right past her. Vanyel, standing on Randi’s left, would draw all the attention; he cut a striking figure, crisp Whites and silver hair falling past his shoulders.

Randi’s formal audiences were held only once a fortnight, now. Treven ran them twice a week, and it seemed like the citizens of Haven were finally getting into their heads that the seventeen-year-old heir could address their grievances, and their desire for respect and honour, just as thoroughly as the dying King.

For all his nerves, the boy was awfully good at it. _He makes you feel like the only person in the world._ It was so like the trick Terrill had that Shavri sometimes wondered if he had been taking lessons.

Shavri was still seeing Terrill once a fortnight, and it helped more than she liked to admit, having a candlemark when she could complain without feeling like she was burdening her already overburdened friends and family. She was still taking the damned herb; it didn’t really seem necessary, but it wasn’t bothering her either, and was probably a worthwhile precaution. She appreciated how it made her calmer in the face of stressful conversations. There was never any shortage of those.

The blue-clad Guard was escorting the first petitioners up – a fair-haired man with two young girls, presumably his daughters, aged about ten and eight. “King Randale, I present to you…”

Shavri stopped listening. It wasn’t her job to keep track, not anymore.

Overall, she reminded herself, they were managing better than she had any right to expect. The vague war-warning had gone over with remarkably little panic – no one was surprised that the wild north might contain unspecified danger, and the only complaints had concerned the associated harvest-tax increases. The Guard numbered fifteen thousand now, if you counted the green recruits in training. They were back up to ten publicly known Herald-Mages, eleven with Jisa. None of the four new mages quite reached Adept, but they were all strong enough to Gate, and even Nani and Tamara could make use of the new permanent Gate-termini on the western border, respectively at Forst Reach and at Rabbit Hole, two hundred miles to the southwest, the largest and most fortified settlement in the new-annexed Lake March region. So could Brightstar, once they made the choice to key him in, and he had already accompanied Nani out to handle a Changebear that had been terrorizing a village.

Forst Reach wasn’t actually on the Border anymore, but Tashir had worried that a Gate would drain power from his Heartstone and the precious spell it guarded, even if it was ostensibly tied to the much more distant Haven node. Besides, his area was still marginal, recovering from the devastation eight years ago, and he couldn’t spare an armed guard for a Herald-Mage riding out in defense of the Border. Vanyel’s younger brother Mekeal, on the other hand, had been putting together an impressive force of armsmen, nearly a company’s worth at this point, and apparently had been quite successfully breeding a line of warhorses. _He’s a bloodthirsty little bastard_ , she remembered Vanyel saying, almost with pride.

She wondered if Withen had slipped any hints to his son about their situation; if so, she couldn’t really begrudge the lapse. _We might need his people._

Shavri’s own workload was a lot more reasonable these days. They had two new Heralds on the Senior Circle; Herald Marius was in charge of the Mindspeech relay and Farsight checkpoints, and Herald Siri of their diplomats, Heraldic and not. They had also started offering internships to final-year Heraldic students who showed particular promise, inviting the youngsters to take notes. Sandra and Kilchas were closer to honorary members nowadays, attending only those meetings that touched on their respective competencies, mage-artifacts and mage-combat.

Shavri attended only when Randi did, which was rare; he preferred to meet with his Heralds in smaller groups, in his own quarters. The group was big enough that full meetings were unwieldy anyway, and happened only once a month; the rest of the time, Dara would select a subset based on the agenda. Van and Savil tended to switch off with each other at random, like they always had with mage-work, unless the discussion in question concerned exact deployments on the northern border or some other detail that Vanyel preferred to avoid knowing.

Sometimes they had partial meetings with littles playing on the floor.Katha’s girl was almost three years old, and Keiran’s son had passed his second name day. Joshel was considering having children with his sweetheart, a girl at Healers’, and even Dara had spoken longingly of babies. Shavri’s mind kept trying to insist she was far too young, but, hellfires, Dara was twenty now. _I was eighteen when Jisa was conceived._

They had eight trainees going into Whites at Midwinter, and a full dozen graduating in six months. Given recent news, they would almost certainly add Treven to the former list. He was young, but no one could argue he wasn’t ready.

 _It’s too soon._ Not enough time, never enough. But the thought was scarcely a whisper behind her shields, without much heat in it. Only tiredness.

* * *

Shivering in the courtyard, Othersenses extended just far enough to keep watch for passers-by, Jisa wept. She was missing class, and right now she couldn’t bring herself to care.

She could bear it, most of the time, but every so often it would hit her like a builder had dropped a load of bricks on her head. _Papa._ She wanted to kick and scream and throw furniture at the wall until it splintered, and none of that would help.

Shavri had confided in her about Dara’s Foresight vision, and Jisa had visited over lunch while her mother broke the news to Randi himself. He had taken it with remarkable calm, though maybe that was just the exhaustion muting his emotions – he had sat through one of his rare audiences that morning, which always wore him out. During, Jisa had been able to hold her reassuring facade; she had a lot of practice.

What would it be like, to be in Papa’s shoes? To see her own death from years away, slowly approaching? She could scarcely imagine it, any more than she could imagine how Father had felt when he first recognized what his Foresight dream meant. Twenty years ago, and he had been counting down to it ever since.

…As if thinking of him had summoned him, she sensed the approaching glow of a mind, then a brush against her shields. She _could_ shield tightly enough to hide from his Othersenses, but that left her blind to her surroundings as well. _:Jisa, pet, are you all right?:_

 _:Not really:_ she admitted.

_:Want company?:_

_:If you’ve got time:_ She hadn’t wanted to go to Treven, though he would have dropped whatever he was doing in a heartbeat if she asked. That was the problem. It would be so easy to abuse his loyalty to her, and she could do math – his duties to Valdemar were more important, right now.

Besides, for all his maturity, she didn’t think Trev really understood death. _He’s never lost anyone._ He was frightened and sad, but it was still theoretical to him.

He hadn’t seen Herald Jaysen die in front of him, a bloody mangled body on the floor, when he was six years old.

Vanyel ducked around the hedge into the enclosed garden. The Palace workers had kept the snow mostly swept off the flagstones, but the trees and bushes were heavily blanketed in white. Icicles hung from the fountain, a beautiful stone heron diving after a stone fish.

“Oh, Jisa…” He held out his arms, and she dived into the embrace, tucking her chin into the hollow of his shoulder while he stroked her unbound hair. _:I know:_ he sent. _:I know:_

She clung to him in silence for a long time.

 _:Sometimes I think I can’t bear it anymore:_ she sent finally. _:I’ll kill something or go mad. Only there’s nothing to kill, and going mad wouldn’t change anything:_

He chuckled, stepping back and smoothing the hair back from her face on both sides, his hands landing on her shoulders. _:How…self-controlled of you. I doubt those considerations would hold me for a moment:_ His expression shifted to mock-thoughtfulness. _:Probably I’d settle on going mad. Killing something is awfully messy if you want it to be satisfying; I’d never get the blood out of my Whites, and then everyone would think I was a madman anyway:_

That got a damp laugh out of her. Vanyel had more self-control than anyone she knew, but between the two of them, the jest was still funny.

He trapped her wrist as she lifted her arm to wipe her nose. _:Stop that. Where’s your handkerchief?:_

Definitely not in her pocket. _:I probably gave it to someone at Mindhealers’:_ she admitted.

_:Well, have mine. We can’t have the King’s daughter wiping her nose on her sleeve. What will people think?:_

She giggled. _:That I’m a ruffian and a boor. I won’t deny either:_ She was capable of manners when she was trying, but it felt important, somehow, to remember that politeness was just that. A facade. Not a fundamental law of reality, like Treven sometimes seemed to think.

Van cupped her chin with his hand, the humour fading from his eyes. _:Jisa, I’m sorry. Truly:_

She blew her nose and tried for a watery smile. _:Thank you:_ Already she felt a little better, just seeing a familiar face. Someone who recognized the horror of what was happening, who could witness it with her.

She had been much too distracted to notice at first, but he looked grey. _:Father, are you all right?:_

 _:I just Gated to Sunhame and back:_ he admitted. _:Gave Karis the news in person. Seems a bit redundant, we’ll be bringing her over next week for the usual talks, but she deserved some time to absorb it first:_ A crooked smile. _:Don’t look at me like that. The permanent Gate-terminus is a lot less draining to use, it’s an apprentice-level spell. I was just tense about, well, other things, so I managed to hurt my channels anyway. Like an idiot:_

She checked his forehead with the back of her hand. _:Father, you should go lie down and let Stef pamper you:_ She wished they could have sent her instead, or one of the other eight Herald-Mages who could use the Gate, but she did understand why Vanyel had been the one to go.

 _:Stef is busy with your papa. I took willowbark, I’ll manage:_ Vanyel rubbed his temple. _:You look a little worn down yourself:_

Jisa ducked her head, embarrassed. Was it that visible? _:I tried the Master self-test again last night:_ she admitted.

A raised eyebrow. _:And failed, I assume:_

Damn him for rubbing it in. It was Jisa’s third attempt, and she could see why it wasn’t recommended to try so often; success would have left her with a surfeit of power, but failure drained her to the dregs, and it had been a _long_ morning at Mindhealers’, one in which she had fallen back on Terrill’s strategy of barely using her Gift at all. Most White Winds mages took years to progress from Journeyman to Master, but most White Winds mages weren’t Mindhealers who could speed their training via cautious use of that Gift, and Jisa doubted they were as diligent as she was.

Most White Winds mages didn’t have the time pressure she and Brightstar did. She couldn’t afford to take five years. And she had been _so close,_ this time; it was tempting to try again one more time before the Midwinter festivities had everyone swamped.

Van moved first to change the topic. _:Want to know some interesting news?:_

She jumped on the distraction. _:Yes! What?:_

_:We’re going to have a guest, come Midwinter. Karis wants to foster Arven with us for a few months. She would have preferred to wait, but it seems we’re running out of ‘later’:_

Jisa smiled, despite the pang in her chest at the second half. _:I won’t mind spending some time with my baby sister:_ Arven was almost five years old, not a baby at all anymore. She wasn’t as bookish as Jisa remembered being at that age, but she could read and write, and with all her relentless tutoring she spoke five-and-a-half languages – Karsite and Valdemaran with perfect fluency, Rethwellani, Hardornen, and trade-tongue reasonably well, and some basic phrases in Tayledras. She loved to ride her pony, and she had inherited Vanyel’s musical talents.

Jisa found her mind drawn to littles, lately. Katha’s daughter was often to be found running around the halls of the Palace with a beleaguered nursemaid chasing after her, and Keiran usually brought her son with her when she met Randi in his quarters. Jisa often accompanied Treven to those meetings, and she liked to sit down on the floor with him and quietly keep him amused with blocks and wooden soldiers, toys that had been in the King’s suite since _she_ was a toddler.

She took her contraceptive-herbs every morning, and had Gemma check they were working – Mother would’ve been _far_ too awkward – but sometimes she was tempted to just…forget. Still, even she had to admit that almost fifteen was too young, and that she had enough on her plate already.

At least she had an adorable little sister to play with, who everyone _knew_ was her sister, even if their shared parent wasn’t the person everyone thought. Brightstar’s relation to her was a secret here in Haven.

Thinking of Brightstar reminded Jisa of her other recent musings. She started to reach out with a Mindtouch, then held back, remembering that Vanyel preferred not to know. He was aware of her Gate-research in the abstract, but no one but Treven and Brightstar knew the candlemarks she had spent with one of them guarding an outlying Work Room, refining her un-scaffolded midair Gates until she could open one in seconds.

Van knew nothing of their forays into the Void either, not that either of them had made much progress. Jisa was almost certain that she _was_ glimpsing the edges of a pattern, now, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and maybe that odd web-like structure she sometimes saw hints of was a natural part of the Nether Plane itself.

…It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to put together what, exactly, Brightstar had sent her to look for. Of course it had to do with Leareth’s immortality. That part, she hadn’t even told Treven about. Partly for plausible deniability, partly because she didn’t want him to start counting on it in his planning, even implicitly – but, if she was honest with herself, a little because it felt a lot more satisfying to imagine telling him once they had succeeded.

Recently, during an afternoon she had carved out to hide in one of the riverside grottos, carefully shielded and illusioned, and renew her extra-planar alliances with some friendly gifts, she had found herself musing about the _vrondi._

They were simpleminded, but it was possible to make deals with them – that was what the Web was, after all, a minimal, voluntary contract, energy in exchange for watchful eyes. The Truth Spell was another example; it was, by her analysis, a degenerate form of summoning-call, one that could somehow work from mind-magic alone. The weaker version was only that, relying on the _vrondi’s_ innate curiosity and friendliness, their affinity for minds, and the ability they shared with most other air-spirits to sense intent. The stronger version was a true contract, energy in exchange for something like a primitive compulsion. Someone like Shavri, who could cast a coercive Truth Spell despite lacking either an active mage-gift or a magic-touched Companion, wasn’t at all capable of laying a compulsion – but all energy was the same, whether it came from a Healer or a mage, and the _vrondi_ were beings of magic and mind.

How long could a coercive Truth Spell last? As far as Jisa could tell, no one had actually tested it. Jisa had been tempted to try on herself, but going around for weeks being compelled to answer every single question truthfully would be very inconvenient. Using Treven as her test subject would be even worse, and Brightstar had refused.

It was possible to cast it on herself. That had been her first test, though she had dispelled it five minutes later.

Her curiosity lingered. Would it be possible to cast a permanent Truth Spell, impossible to dispel? The Web was quasi-permanent, after all. Possible to dismantle in theory, but Vanyel had admitted he didn’t know how he’d go about it.

Could the _vrondi_ enforce that same kind of compulsion for anything other than honesty? She had sworn an oath under first-stage Truth Spell before, to her papa; the _vrondi_ ’s presence had proved that she meant the words. But nothing more. If she learned something new later and changed her mind, nothing would stop her. Knowing that, Papa hadn’t bothered to formally release her from that oath when they brought her in on the secret.

She had brought up to Vanyel that he could tell Leareth about the Truth Spell, and suggest that they swear witnessed oaths under it in separate, neutral locations. Leareth, unsurprisingly, had been intrigued but hadn’t thought that was enough.

But if she cast the full coercive version on herself, and then swore an oath that she truly and deeply meant, and…did something else, so that she could dispel the ‘honesty’ part of the vrondi’s pact but somehow not their witnessing of the oath itself… Could she make them stay _forever_?

It would come at a cost. Deedre’s research had determined that the initial casting of a Truth Spell was fuelled by the Herald setting it, but the ongoing power-drain came from the subject, and over a four-candlemark interrogation it could be considerable. One or two _vrondi_ wouldn’t demand a lot of energy, but for an un-Gifted subject, it added up.

For a strong mage, though, it was trivial, less than the power it took to maintain personal shields.

Could a mage figure out how to break a compulsion even on themselves? Jisa had never tried breaking someone else’s Truth Spell laid on her. She ought to ask Treven to try it. Probably it would make the _vrondi_ very upset. They were like toddlers in that way; taking away a promised treat was likely to incite a tantrum far out of proportion.

An alarm, in fact.

No one would be able to swear an oath under coercive Truth Spell unless they genuinely meant it – in which case, why would they try to break it at all? And if they _did_ try to break it, later, it would be both effortful and very noisy.

Perfect, in fact, for a pair of powerful mages who wanted to verify their trust in one another to a great degree of certainty before they would ever be willing to meet.

She was getting ahead of herself – she had no idea yet if it was possible. Still, it felt promising, and that alone was enough to lift her mood.

* * *

Stef lounged against the wall, idly playing with the wine-cup in his hands, and considered discreetly tipping the drink into the nearby potted plant. He hadn’t found a graceful way to dodge when Lady Treesa dove in to refill his glass.

It was a raucous celebration, just as crowded and festive as his own graduation party. Snow howled against the glass windows, but inside it was warm and cozy, a fire blazing in every hearth. Fake icicles made of rolled paper hung from every doorway. Medren, resplendent in his new Scarlets, was sprawled comfortably across the window loveseat, Van’s steel-stringed gittern in his hands, singing a duet from Sun and Shadow with their classmate Tali. Savil was ensconced in the fattest armchair, feet propped up on a lacy pink pouffe. Lissa danced with Treven while Jisa giggled nearby; it was an amusing sight, Stef had to agree. Both of them were good dancers, but Treven danced with perfect Court technique, while Lissa was…rather more creative.

Even Shavri had come out, to Stef’s surprise. She was dancing with Brightstar – not a Valdemaran dance at all, the steps were unfamiliar, but they were both very graceful, and Shavri was smiling.

Just a few days ago, Dara had Seen the King’s death. Life went on. _We all need something to celebrate._

Two years.

That was how long it had been since his own promotion to full Bard. He was eighteen now. An adult by anyone’s standards. Personally assigned to the King, with the occasional side-mission from the spymaster, though Katha knew how busy he was and rarely asked him for anything strenuous. Lifebonded to Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane, Hero of Stony Tor. _I never dreamed my life would be like this._

Van was standing in the dining-room, talking to his niece Ariel and her sweetheart, the tawny-haired former mage from Baires; he was hanging back, clinging to her arm. Stef wondered how they were doing; he was a bit surprised they were still seeing each other, it had been, what, a year? _They look happy._ Ariel had to be almost sixteen now.

His lifebonded seemed to be having a good time, smiling, his hands animated. Stef had been tallying up his drinks, and he was on his fourth cup of wine.

He watched as Ariel hugged her uncle and then peeled off, leading Arkady by the hand and tugging him to the impromptu dance-floor. Medren had moved on to singing ‘A Love That's Meant to Be’, and Treven and Jisa danced slowly, close in each other’s arms. Lissa was refilling her ale from the keg in the corner.

_I first saw you standing on the edge of time / just before the sun greeted the day._

_In my heart I heard you sing the ancient rhyme / just as moonlight faded away._

Stef loosened his tunic, and watched as Van took out his handkerchief and mopped at his brow, then meandered around the table, absently draining his glass and setting it down.

They had been discreet tonight. When it was just his immediate family, Van was willing to act like a couple, but there were a number of strangers here. Stef didn’t like it but he understood.

_Some day we’ll stand together and face eternity,_

_Until that dawn breaks, we’ll feel the heartache._

Stef whispered along to the words as Vanyel approached, smiling.

A hand clasped his arm, startling him. “Stef, darling, are you enjoying yourself?”

He turned, pasting a winning smile in place. “Very much so, Lady Treesa. And you?”

“Of course! All you youngsters in here – it’s a delight! Who ever would have thought I’d have a dozen Bards in my own home?” Her eyes flicked to her son. “Van! Will you play for us sometime?”

Vanyel ducked his head. “I’d rather not steal Medren’s night, Mother. Perhaps if he wants a rest later.”

A pout, but it faded quickly. “Stef, Stef, I had a little something for you.” Lady Treesa’s eyes sparkled. “I do hope you’ll like it.”

Stef waited, expectant.

She twirled on the spot, gown flouncing. “My dear son Meke sent us up some of the new riding-horses with the harvest tax. I thought you and Van might enjoy riding together, so…I’d like one to be yours. Her name is Melody and she’s a beauty–”

Stef’s instinctive response of _but I can’t ride_ was drowned by a wave of amusement at the startled, confused look in Vanyel’s eyes. They both tried to hold it in, but Van slipped first, and they both burst out laughing.

“What?” Lady Treesa said, wide-eyed, glancing between them. “I thought it was very suitable, you adore music…”

Stef, with great effort, controlled himself. “Yes, it’s lovely. I’m…very touched…”

“I bought a stall for her down in the stables, don’t worry,” Treesa burbled. “I’ll take you out to meet her once the weather clears.” She ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek, then submitted her son to the same treatment and fluttered out into the crowd.

Stef made eye contact with Van again, and that was all it took to set them off. Vanyel slumped back against the wall, slapping his thigh. _:I can’t believe…she named your horse…after the dean of Mindhealers’…:_

“I can’t even say it!” Stef wheezed. “Picture it… ‘I’m going out to ride Melody’… Oh, gods, that sounds _filthy_ , ew _…_ ”

 _:Stef, get your mind out of the gutter:_ Van dabbed at his eyes. _:I can’t breathe. Oh, Mother, never change:_

Finally he straightened up, holding his belly. “Stef, I need air. Care to take a walk? I can give us a weather-barrier.”

“Why, Herald Vanyel, I would be honoured.”

They navigated their way through the crowd to the balcony-door. He paused for a longish time, leaning on the doorframe, before he nodded and motioned Stef ahead of him; a shimmering membrane of energy held the blizzard at bay, but the cool air was a refreshing jolt. Van closed the door firmly behind them, and then slipped his arm around Stef’s waist, gripping the wrought-iron rail with his other hand.

“Beautiful night,” he said dryly.

It wasn’t anyone’s usual idea of pretty weather, but Stef could see it. “All that pomp and fury… Makes me wish I could put it in a song.”

Vanyel glanced sideways at him, his face mostly in shadow, a lock of silver hair falling across his eyes. “My mother wouldn’t be a fan.”

“We both know she has no taste.” Echoes of a conversation two years ago. _It broke her heart a little when I went away to Haven,_ Vanyel had said. _I’m not the doting son she wanted._ And then Van had asked about his childhood, and then Stef had kissed him…

“I love you, Van- _ashke_ ,” he said quietly. _More than all the music the world can hold._

“I know. I love you too.”

Stef’s breath caught. He licked his lips. “I’m writing you a song, you know.”

A soft sound. “Are you?”

“Can’t show you yet, I’m not done.” Stef had never been willing to share the early drafts of his music. “I’m leaving a bit in the middle for you to write, though. Because it’s for both of us. A song for two voices.” _I was never whole until I met you._

A crooked smile. “I hope I don’t embarrass you. Stef, I’m no Bard.”

 _You wanted to be one._ Stef could feel Van’s eyes on him like a heated weight.

“Stef…”

He turned, and this time Van was the one who kissed him. There was desperation in it, a drowning man fighting for a breath of air, his lips hot and tasting of wine.

Stef grasped him by the front of his tunic and spun him around, pinning him to the chilled stone wall. Van didn’t resist; he was limp in Stef’s grip, barely supporting his weight. Outside the bubble of magic, a storm raged, but they were on the inside. Safe.

Well, mostly. There was still Lady Treesa to worry about.


	2. Chapter Two

Karis closed her eyes. “Randi, I am sorry.”

It was the day before Midwinter. They were in the King’s suite, a fire blazing in the hearth, and Randi’s hand was still cold in hers. He lay on a padded day-bed, set out in what had once been his formal dining room.

Karis would be staying for a full week, rather than the usual crammed two-day visit, in order to spread the meetings out and keep the King’s workload to a candlemark or two per day. Her kingdom would run smoothly in her absence; after so long, her staff and counsellors were trusted, competent, and experienced. As a side benefit, she would have some un-pressured time to spend with Randi. As people, friends, not monarchs of allied kingdoms.

Her husband. They had a child together – at least, that was what the world believed, and it felt more than a little true. Arven loved her ‘Papa’, even if she only saw him four times a year.

Eight years ago, she had stood before a priest of a foreign god and made her vows to a man she barely knew, putting her trust in a kingdom she had been taught to fear and hate. _We were so young._ She had felt old and weary, even then, but King Randale had looked radiant in his Whites. Not ill at all.

Had she known, would she have done anything differently?

No. That answer had never changed.

Karis was still unsure if she loved him. What was love, anyway? The ballads made no sense to her; no one had ever made her heart quiver or her spirit soar. Certainly Randi had never taken root in her the way Arven had. The knowledge of his death hurt, but it was nowhere near the wordless horror that rose when she pictured losing her daughter.

Still, he was a friend, a good one, and she had locked the door to her bedroom and cried after Vanyel Gated out to give her the news.

Arven would be devastated. Karis had told her, of course, she had never believed in sheltering her daughter from the world, but the girl was too young to truly understand. She believed her Papa was just ‘going away’ to a different place – and had asked, baffled, if he would be going to see Vkandis or Kernos, who she seemed to think was the Valdemaran god, maybe because the Harvestfest rites were in the Heralds’ temple. _They say all Heralds greet the Shadow-Lover,_ Karis had told her, glossing over the complexities of a kingdom that shared a dozen religions, and the knowledge that Randi’s relationship to the concept of gods was even more complicated.

 _I will pray to Vkandis anyway,_ her daughter had announced. Karis lacked the heart to remind her that Randi was hardly one of the Sunlord’s children, for all that Vkandis had backed their alliance.

Herald Vanyel was in the corner, right now, keeping Arven amused by reading a book with her. He was so good with children; Arven adored her ‘Uncle Van’, and spoke of him just as often as she did her supposed father.

Karis hated keeping the secret from her daughter. It felt to her that Arven deserved to know, but of course the girl had to be old enough to shield out Thoughtsensers before it would be safe to tell her. It was still too early to know if she would be Gifted, though the un-Gifted could, with painstaking effort, learn to block their thoughts. Karis had.

Vanyel was thirty-six now, though he had the sort of ascetic face that changed little with time, even more strikingly handsome with his entirely silvered hair. He looked well, filling out his Whites. Not at all like the too-thin stranger who had accompanied her to Sunhame, all hollow cheeks and haunted eyes.

Karis wondered if he still had nightmares now. She did.

Well, she knew he dreamed of a mage who wore black and called himself Leareth, in the north with an army at his back, and they spoke of gods and maths.

She owed him so much. _You brought peace to my realm. You gave me back my home._ And there was nothing she could do to aid him in his own mission. Arven was going to lose her papa, and she might lose her father by blood before she ever learned the truth. What would it be like for her later, looking back on hazy childhood memories of her Uncle Van?

Karis had so badly wanted her daughter to have some kind of family. It galled her that Arven had no grandparents to coddle and spoil her, no aunts and uncles to ply her with stories, no rebellious older cousins to drag her into mischief. She had considered whether she ought to try to give Arven another sibling, but the idea of bedding Van again was less than appealing, no matter how respectful he had been about it the first time.

Still, her advisors did keep bringing it up. Maybe it was irresponsible of her not to go for ‘an heir and a spare’. A Queen was expected to do unpleasant things in the name of duty. The option might not be open much longer–

 _Stop being morbid,_ Karis told herself firmly. Randi was still alive, and so was Vanyel. And she was the one who missed her own childhood, and projected that pain and loss onto her daughter. Arven was happy with the family she had.

Silky fur brushed her arm as Sola leapt up from nowhere to the head of the bed. _:I’m proud of you:_ the Suncat sent. _:This is much to bear, I know, but you can. You will:_

* * *

“More wine?” Savil said, refilling her own cup and then holding out the bottle.

Her nephew covered his glass. “No, thank you.”

They were sitting around her tiny table, the ruin of a meal spread out between them. Stef was busy tonight with Randi, and Van had eagerly accepted her invitation. He seemed distracted, though, lost in thought.

Savil cast about for a topic. “Did you hear about Jisa?”

“No, what about her?” Van was still staring into the distance.

“I’m surprised she didn’t pin you down right away to tell you.” Savil paused, enjoying the suspense; she hadn’t expected an opportunity to drop good news and see her nephew’s reaction. “She passed.”

“Passed what?”

He really wasn’t paying attention today. “The self-testing for Master-level.”

His eyes focused properly on her. “What? That’s… Savil, that’s incredible. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I was in the Work Room all day, she probably couldn’t get through. I’ll have to congratulate her.”

Savil grinned. “She’s bursting with pride.”

“I’m glad. She was intolerable about Brightstar passing it before her.”

The young Healing-Adept had managed it a few days ago, shortly after Jisa’s most recent failed attempt, and Jisa had been wild with jealousy. _They’re as competitive as Withen and I ever were._ It was interesting that Lissa and Van had never seemed like that at all.

Van’s eyes had a faraway look again. Savil couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking about. The implications for their resources, maybe.

“Karis looks well,” she said. “And Arven is growing up so fast. I can scarcely believe it.”

That earned an absent smile. “I know. She’s so musical.” His eyes turned back to her face. “I had an idea for the Ice Festival tomorrow.”

Randi had declared the festival a fortnight ago, when it became clear that Terilee would freeze over before Midwinter Day, and announced it publicly on the Mindspeech relay. “Oh?” Savil said politely, trying to mask the surge of worry. She understood and sympathized with Randi’s desire for a party, but she really, really wasn’t sure it was a good idea for the monarchs and their entourages to be so exposed – it wouldn’t be easy on their guards to have them mingling with thousands of people, nobles and common folk alike, many of whom had flocked to the city just for this occasion. It wasn’t feasible to vet everyone entering Haven to the level she would have preferred.

Vanyel’s smile broadened. “I heard a rumour that Master Dawson traveled in for it. With his wagon.”

“Who?” Savil said blankly.

“Oh, sorry. An instrument-maker from Forst Reach Village. He sold me Medren’s first good instrument. And that lovely steel-stringed gittern.” A chuckle. “I wonder if he knew he’d be making his fortune. Breda can’t get enough of them for Bardic. Anyway, I thought I might bring Arven there and see if he has any student lutes in her size. I let her take a turn with mine, but she can’t reach the frets.”

“What a lovely idea.” Savil stroked the tip of her nose. “Van, _ke’chara,_ has Karis ever spoken to you about trying for a second child?”

“What? No. Why?”

She smirked at his expression of distaste. “Sorry. Just, I couldn’t help overhearing some mutters. Her councillors worry.” Arven had to be one of the best-guarded children in both kingdoms, but accidents could happen. “You know what they say about ‘an heir and a spare.’”

“I’ll wait for her to bring it up,” Vanyel said dryly.

Sipping her wine, she tactfully didn’t ask if Karis had really been _that_ bad in bed. “Did Tashir send you a letter too?” she said instead.

“Mmm?” He had clearly been drifting again. “Probably. I’ve got a stack of mail to catch up on. Why, does he have news?” 

Her smile broadened; she hadn’t expected a chance to drop such juicy gossip. “Yes. He’s engaged.” Watching Van’s jaw go slack was just as satisfying as she had hoped. She waited just the right length of dramatic pause. “To Featherfire.”

Vanyel leaned back in his chair, speechless. “Oh,” he said finally. “I…imagine she’s good for him. Gods, I hope Snowlight won’t be too upset.”

“Why would she be? Her daughter’s happy.”

Vanyel glanced sideways at her. He rubbed his eyes. “What a world. When’s the wedding?”

“They’re thinking Midsummer.” Another pang, more reflex than anything; planning anything in the future was a reminder that none of them knew how much future they had. From the flicker in Vanyel’s eyes, she guessed that he felt the same way.

“And guess what else?” she went on, pushing the pointless loop aside.

A raised eyebrow. “What?”

“There’s another wedding notice.” She paused. “Jervis and Melenna.”

Vanyel blinked helplessly at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

It set her off as well, and she found herself giggling like a schoolgirl, too hard to speak. _:I can’t even picture it with a straight face:_ she sent. _:Can you imagine?:_

Vanyel wiped at his eyes. _:One wonders what they talk about at the supper table…:_

 _:Tashir?:_ she guessed. _:They’re both surrogate parents to him, really. And, I don’t know, harvest-taxes and logistics for the keep:_ Maybe her instinctive bafflement at their relationship had been unfair, based on a child’s sketch of who they had been years ago – Jervis as the gruff, heartless mercenary, Melenna as the sentimental young maid who’d let Meke get her with child. They were real people, though, not charcoal-drawings.

 _:They’re both very competent:_ Vanyel agreed, sobering as well. _:They take their duties seriously. Maybe they’re not such an odd pair:_

* * *

“You take care now,” Jisa said brightly, ushering the young woman towards the door. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

Alone in the quiet Mindhealers’ office, she flung herself down into one of the armchairs, sighing with relief and closing her eyes. It was the day before Midwinter, about lunchtime, and she had been going since dawn. The lingering high from finally advancing to Master-level – according to the White Winds schema, anyway, by Valdemaran standards she was solidly an Adept – had worn off candlemarks ago, along with the last of the excess energy. She had used most of it up last night, first calling on all her extra-planar allies and offering generous, no-strings-attached gifts of that power, which was traditional and expected, then holing up in Kilchas and Sandra’s old Work Room with Brightstar and running through all the spells that were newly open to her.

Among them, the traditional forms for a duel arcane. White Winds hadn’t set the rules for mage-duels, but it seemed they obeyed them, as did the Adepts of most schools south of Rethwellan. Jisa had never heard of it, and neither had Brightstar; together, they had picked at the spell, and it seemed that the rite of Adept’s Challenge acted as a beacon to nearby extra-planar eyes. That, not social convention alone, had to be the real reason why an Adept who was challenged and refused to participate, or who fought and lost, was considered to lose their status. It wasn’t their inherent potential that was stripped away; it was the trust of their Other-planar allies, and the self-trust they needed to call on them. Traditionally, the winner would collect the loser’s proxies – in the case of coercive bindings, this was actually a part of the challenge rite. For voluntary alliances, the transfer too was up to the beings in question, but it was a broadly recognized tradition.

Adept’s Challenge wouldn’t apply to either of them, even if they had lived in a place where anyone acknowledged the rite and would challenge them, which they didn’t. The true duel arcane was very rare. Still, Master mages could use the basic setup, a spherical barrier that enclosed both mages until one was defeated or dead. Each mage would contribute their own half, but once put forward, the pieces merged into a stable whole that neither mage could dismantle on their own, though in the case of a draw, they could decide together to take it down.

Jisa was already mulling over alternate uses of such a structure. For example, two powerful mages who wanted neutral ground to speak, alone, out of reach of interference. Vanyel wouldn’t be able to invoke the full forms either – amusingly, the rite wouldn’t recognize him as an Adept, since his mage-training had been so different – but it ought to be possible to strip out just the shield-setup…

Focus. The matter deserved consideration, but not while she was at work.

She was missing the Ice Festival. Arven had begged her to come, and Jisa had tried to explain to her baby sister that she was all grown up now and had important duties, just like their parents did.

It was her first shift wearing standard Greens rather than a trainee uniform. The informal graduation-ceremony for Healers’ happened a week before Midwinter, and Jisa had been very surprised when Melody announced she would be promoted along with Jeren.

The Heralds’ graduation took place a day after Midwinter. Treven would be going into Whites. So would Jisa; Shallan wasn’t sure what else to do with her. Neither of them would be leaving for an internship circuit, though. Treven, as was traditional, would be assigned to a stint with the city Courts. Jisa wasn’t sure what they would give her.

It might all be moot if Papa died this winter. Which wasn’t guaranteed, and might not even be that likely; all Dara’s vision told them was that he he had less than ten months, and Foresight had been wrong before. Still, something deep in Jisa’s bones kept insisting that he wouldn’t see spring.

 _I’ll be sorry not to meet my grandchildren,_ he had said to her the day before, and in response to her involuntary surprise: _by blood or not, you are my child._ Then he had chuckled. _The world thinks you and Trev are second cousins. Probably a good thing we don’t live somewhere like the Eastern Empire where cousin-marriage is forbidden._ That snippet had been news to Jisa. People married their cousins all the time here – well, nobles did, though Shavri said that most Healers disapproved of the practice. _Leads to inbreeding,_ she had said, _which might explain why the nobleborn Blues are the way they are._

Jisa hadn’t realized until much later, walking home, that it was a tacit admission that Papa thought she and Treven would at some point marry. The Council wanted to stall on general principle, Trev said, but he had been trying to draft a list of potential alliance marriages, and drawing a blank. There just weren’t any unmarried princesses anywhere close to his age in any Kingdom that shared a border.

 _They can’t be expecting me to turn shaych,_ he had said, _and I’m not accepting a betrothal to Arven, that’s creepy._ Jisa had been rolling on the floor laughing for minutes.

She _wanted_ to marry him; the pang of longing when Papa mentioned it had caught her by surprise. Still, it didn’t seem like now was the time to push it.

A door creaked. “Jisa?” Jeren’s voice. He switched to Mindspeech. _:I, er, have a problem…:_

Jisa didn’t even turn her head. _:What is it?:_

_:I need longer for this patient. Can you take my after-lunch?:_

Jisa yawned and checked the slate on the wall. _:I guess so, but you owe me. Jeren, you have the worst time management:_

_:It’s not my fault–:_

_:It must be. Never happens to me:_ Jisa was very good about wrapping up all of her sessions five minutes early. Sometimes it meant leaving things unaddressed, but it was worse if they got off-schedule and other patients weren’t seen at all.

 _:She was assessed as a priority three, but whoever did it screwed up:_ Jeren insisted. _:I should’ve had the two candlemarks to begin with:_

Jisa sighed. _:Fine. Whine to Melody after:_ She had already missed one of her morning breaks for an emergency patient and been forced to push her last session of the morning later, eating into her lunchtime, and now she had about fifteen minutes to find and bolt down some kind of food, because she didn’t have another break until late afternoon.

The outer door opened. _You’re way too early,_ Jisa thought, but it wasn’t Jeren’s patient, just Melody, who was somehow carrying three cups of chava at once and had a basket of bread and cheese slung over her forearm and a rolled paper tucked in her armpit. She was frowning. “Aber has another–”

“Not me!” Jisa interrupted before she could finish.

Melody’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t even want to hear? It might be interesting.”

“Don’t care.” Melody would have been able to snipe her that way a year ago, but not now. “I’m busy. Have to take Jeren’s after-lunch, he’s gone over time again.”

Melody slid the basket down her arm onto the desk and carried over one of the mugs for Jisa. “Well, any interest in staying–”

“Can’t stay late,” Jisa said instantly. “I have plans tonight.” There would be a dance-performance out on the ice, by torchlight, and Treven had asked her to accompany him. It sounded very romantic.

Melody nodded briskly, unsurprised. She set the other cup by Terrill’s spot and eased herself down into a chair. “Ah, that’s better.” A groan. “Jisa, I’ve gotten fat.”

Melody had in fact become rather stout over the last two years. Age and stress, she claimed, though sitting in a chair all day surely didn’t help.

“You could be more active,” Jisa offered, digging in the basket.

“One of my vices is that I never have liked exercising.” Melody stretched. “Jisa, I need your help with a problem we have – no need to answer now, but mull on it. Right now our wait time for a priority four is somewhere between six months and literally never, at which point they might as well not _be_ on the list. Ignoring that, we’re sort of managing – I’ve been keeping track, and we haven’t made a priority three wait longer than two weeks in the last year. I’m wondering if we can relax the rule on supervision for first-time patients and hand some of the backlog to our senior trainees. You’ve been running more of the lessons than I have – what do you think?”

Jisa’s mouth was full of bun and sausage. _:That could maybe work:_ she agreed via Mindspeech. _:I had another idea. Some of the students in the un-Gifted stream are really good, and they’ve had two and a half years of training. We never properly decided what standards to set for them to graduate, or what they should do after. I’d been thinking we could start giving them followups, and maybe we can set criteria to divide up the priority fours somehow, figure out who doesn’t need someone Gifted:_

“Excellent idea. I’d forgotten that.” Melody was smiling.

Jisa stuffed the last of the bun into her mouth, washing it down with chava. “You shouldn’t have to do all the scheduling yourself,” she added. “Trev has a clerk for that. We should request a permanent clerk to sit here all day and greet patients, so we don’t have to worry about that.”

“True, true.” A calculating look. “You could put a word in for us?”

That was probably abusing her position, but Jisa nodded.

Melody sipped her own chava. “You know the best thing about promoting you and Jeren? I’ll only have to be on-call one night out of four. Hope you’re looking forward to being woken up in the middle of the night. Very exciting and grown-up, huh?”

Jisa stuck out her tongue, then quickly smoothed over her expression when she heard tentative footsteps outside the door.

* * *

It had taken considerable weather-working the night before, but the snow had ceased, there was barely a breeze, and the sun peeked out from behind a fraying quilt of cloud.

Vanyel stood with his back to one of the temporary tents that had sprung up on the shore, watching the crowd. The river had been swept clear of snow, and the thick blue ice was so clear in places that one could see the rocky bed, occasional fish moving beneath. Dozens of merchants and entertainers had erected huts overnight, selling hot food and drink and all manner of wares.

One benefit of the godawful weather this year, he thought wryly; there hadn’t been an official Ice Festival in decades. He suspected Randi’s real excuse was that he would enjoy watching Karis play with her daughter.

The Queen was easy to spot, headpiece rising above the crowd, fur-trimmed cloak bearing the Sun-in-Glory. Arven had dragged her mother by the hand to one of the tents and demanded a pair of steel rails be strapped to the bottom of her boots; the things were in fashion this year. The five-year-old had been wobbly at first, but had mastered the device in minutes, and was twirling in circles around her mother. Her little body was so thoroughly muffled in woollen scarves and sweaters that she looked like a puffball mushroom.

Brightstar loved them too, Vanyel though with a smile. His son was somewhere in the crowd, enjoying himself; he had offered to help stand guard, but Vanyel had told him not to worry. It was likely to be his only experience of a Valdemaran winter-festival, and he deserved a chance to have fun.

Vanyel was almost sorry he hadn’t pulled rank with Melody and gotten Jisa the day off, but she wasn’t a child anymore; she would have asked for leave if she wanted it, and she wouldn’t thank him for meddling in her life.

 _:Ke’chara:_ Savil’s mind brushed his for the dozenth time, worried, and he glanced up and caught her eye; she was on the other side of the bank, standing watch under a snow-wreathed chestnut tree. _:Anything?:_

 _:All clear, aunt:_ He did his best to send reassurance. She had been anxious all day. _They’re too exposed,_ she had complained, even though Karis had a dozen of the Sunsguard holding a close perimeter – two of her personal Guard were Master-level mages, albeit very youthful and less than experienced – and the entire area was crawling with blue-garbed Valdemaran Guards. The Queen and her daughter each wore one of Sandra’s talismans, which would protect them against attacks by mage-craft or sword. The whole section of river was fenced off, and four of the Baires mages were taking their turn manning the checkpoints, running their mage-sight over every single entrant to look for dangerous artifacts while the Guards searched them for mundane weapons. All eight active Herald-Mages were keeping half an eye on the Web; any unauthorized use of magic would be detected in seconds.

Kilchas and Sandra had made it out; they had joined Randi, parked in comfortable chairs under an awning and weather-barrier with a perfect view of the festivities, their Companions hovering nearby. Shavri had been there for most of the morning, but her lifebonded had finally convinced her to go off and have some fun. Vanyel had last spotted her donning the steel blades on her own boots, rosy-cheeks and laughing as she tried out her first few unsteady strides, clinging to Treven’s gallantly offered arm.

Arven, he saw, had just noticed the musicians. For once, Stef got to put on a real performance; he was part of a quartet, along with Medren and two other newly-graduated Bards. Stef’s head was flung back, eyes closed, his expression rapturous. In his formal Scarlets, he made a showy figure, standing out even among the others. _I could look at him all day._ His lifebonded was near enough to Randi that he could divert part of his strength to painblocking, but Vanyel could feel the unmistakeable tug of his Gift as well, light and joyous. It made him want to spin around and dance, to throw himself down and make snow-angels, to sing, to laugh at nothing and everything…

 _We need this._ They couldn’t survive the coming years on grim determination alone.

 _:’Fandes?:_ he sent, suddenly craving her company.

_:Coming, love:_

He turned and saw her – prancing through the snow, her mane and tail glinting in the sun. She had asked to grow them out again now that they were stationed in Haven, and it seemed she had found the loving attention of some children; there were quite a lot of ribbons and bells braided in.

 _:You look beautiful:_ he sent.

_:You look rather handsome yourself, Chosen:_

He chuckled. _:I’m amazed you can see me at all. Whites in the snow. I blend right in:_ He caught his fingers in her mane, leaning his forehead against hers.

 _:Are you hungry?:_ she sent. _:There’s a stall down at the other end selling fish-pies, if you’re up for a walk:_

His stomach growled. _:That sounds delicious:_

_:Then you’d better hurry before they’re all gone:_

He nodded, and instinctively checked the Web again before looking around for Savil. _:Aunt:_ he reached out. _:Still clear. I’m going to grab a bite to eat. Would you like something?:_

A moment’s instinctive resistance, and he felt how she pushed away the temptation to ask him to stay. _:Please:_ she sent, with gratitude and affection.

He nodded to her across the expanse of ice, then turned and followed Yfandes, picking his way across the snow, one hand twined in her mane for balance. The bank was very slippery, and it was a longer walk than he had realized.

As they walked, he let his thoughts drift. Tonight there would be a performance, and he had a spot with Stef. Not alone with him; they would be there with Dara and Savil, adjacent to the King and Queen’s box; but they wouldn’t be in view of the crowd, and a bit of cuddling could go unremarked. It was the closest thing to a romantic evening together in public that he could offer his lifebonded, and he knew how much that meant to Stef.

 _Am I doing right by him?_ It was a question he asked himself with some frequency. The work that distracted him from Stef was real and important, but at the same time, it would be so easy to fall back on old habits, reflexively neglecting his lifebonded in favour of duty.

He joined the line for the stall, waving off the plainly dressed young woman who curtsied at him, wide-eyed and stammering, and then tried to let him go ahead of her. Vanyel spent so little time at public events like this; it was easy to forget that even outside the Court, nearly everyone knew his face.

He let his head fall back, staring up at the patchwork sky. Gods willing, it would be a clear night, and Kilchas was planning to make an exhibition of one of his telescopes.

Would Leareth, wherever he was, be looking at the same sky? It had been nearly two months since their last conversation. Which was a longish time, come to think of it, there had been longer gaps before but not in the last five years.

The woman ahead of him carried her pie off in a napkin, casting one last awed glance over her shoulder at him, and Vanyel dragged himself back to the moment, stepping forward and levelling a friendly smile at the stall-owner as he dug in his pockets for a copper–

_:VAN!:_

Savil’s frantic mind-scream, almost incoherent with shock, nearly knocked him over. A second later, the audible screams reached them as well.

 _:What?:_ he sent, already in motion, spinning around to sprint back, reaching into the Web–

The Web had nothing; it was just as confused as he was. Savil didn’t try to answer in words, just pulled him in, hard, sharing her eyes; he caught a glimpse of dizzying glimpse of white foam, but he couldn’t figure out what he was seeing, and having someone else take over his senses when he was just breaking into a run was ill-advised. 

_:Don’t:_ he sent, yanking his mind back just as his bottom slammed into the hard-packed snow. _Ouch._ He managed tocatch himself on his elbows in time to avoid banging his head, but his entire backside throbbed and there was a sharp, warning pain in his shoulder.

 _:Chosen, get on:_ Yfandes sent, ringing steel in her mindvoice.

He seized a handful of her mane and yanked himself up, feet sliding, and she knelt so that he could scramble onto her back. _:Savil, I’m coming:_

Farsight. That was a better idea. He anchored on his sense of Savil’s mind and Reached, fixing his mental ‘eye’ above her head.

The first thing he saw was a star-shaped hole in the ice, cracks spreading around it, black water showing. A knot of red and gold; Karis’ Sunsguard had surrounded her, dragging her back from the edge. He dove inward, swooping closer with his mental eye – yes, Arven was there, clinging to her mother’s hand, one of the guards firmly holding onto her clothing as they hustled the two of them toward safety, balancing speed with the care not to slip on the bare ice. At this distance, he couldn’t distinguish his daughter’s cries from the rest, but her mouth was open, her face twisted in terror.

 _Did we miss a thin spot?_ They had checked all of it the night before, and first thing in the morning; it should have been safe to support the weight of a house.

Vaguely aware of his physical body – he was still clinging to Yfandes’ back and hanging on for dear life as she broke into a trot, the fastest pace she dared on the icy ground – Vanyel reached in with mental hands, flinging out threads of his power, weaving a stabilizing force-net into the ice that lay under the Queen’s feet–

 _:Not an accident:_ Yfandes flashed him an image that must have been from Savil’s eyes, via Kellan, but clearer than the glimpse he had gotten. A creature that moved in shadow under the water, sinuous, all black scales and spined fins.

 _Oh, gods._ A wild animal? There was a species of fish in Lake Evendim that might be big enough, but how could it–

Something exploded through the ice, yards away from Karis and Arven, shattering his force-net as easily as a child breaking spun-sugar. Vanyel yelped despite himself, nearly slipping from Yfandes’ back, and lost hold of his Farsight as the backlashing energy stung his channels.

No time to waste. _Center and ground._ He flung his Othersenses forward, just in time to watch Karis toppling in slow motion, lips drawn back in a scream, as her feet went out from under her; she landed on her side, half-in, half-out of the water. Still hanging onto her daughter, who was almost entirely submerged, scrabbling to keep her face at the surface as several of the Sunsguard tried to form a chain to reach her. Vanyel was close enough to make out her shrieks, now, a higher pitch than the rest.

 _:?:_ he sent, aiming the question at Yfandes and the Web both.

The Web was still perplexed, returning nothing but a helpless blank.

 _:Don’t recognize it:_ Yfandes sent. _:Maybe a Changecreature. Can’t think how it got here:_

Vanyel tried to extend his Othersenses below, but moving water was always hard on magic, and he was still physically too far; he couldn’t find any sign of the creature, it must have dived back to the river-bottom.

Focus on the people he needed to protect, then, not the attacking creature. Could he Fetch them to safety? One but not both, he decided, and it might give the guards a brainstorm if either of their charges vanished from their hands without his warning them first. They had a hold on Arven now, and were hauling her out of the water, dripping and screaming; the rest had a chain all the way to the shore, now, and dozens of blue-clad Valdemaran Guards were racing in to aid them. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds; everything was happening too fast–

 _:We’re halfway there:_ Yfandes assured him.

Thirty seconds away. Too slow.

 _:Shield the ice:_ Savil sent, and he felt her power moving around them, weaving a physical barrier-shield under them. He didn’t dare slip into a full concert-meld, not when he was riding bareback, but he added his own layer, combining his strength with hers.

He felt a tugging in his chest, Stef trying to reach for him through the lifebond – not with fear, Stef was safe, but his lifebonded was opening his shields as wide as he knew how and pushing his own strength through to Vanyel. In the tiny corner of his mind that wasn’t busy holding all the rest of it together, he felt a moment’s gratitude.

 _:!:_ Savil sent.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Like time had turned to honey, each second stretching out, and there should have been time to stop it, he felt their shield shatter, saw the ice start to give directly under their feet, and he flung his power into a hasty net, but it was too slow, too late, his mind and body moved as sluggishly as the rest. For an instant, he caught the clearest glimpse yet of the creature – too-long jaws, jet-black, snakelike body, eyes like yellow globes.

He gathered his power, but he couldn’t afford to strike, not while he was still fifty or a hundred yards away, casting a distance while clinging to Yfandes’ mane, and Arven was right there. He could only watch, helplessly, as Savil’s levinbolt bounced uselessly from the creature’s hide – _resistant to magic_ , some part of him noted distantly – along with a dozen arrows, and Karis’ mages were both throwing force into a barrier even as one of the other red-uniformed guards hauled Arven into his arms, careless of his footing, bracing to throw her toward the shore–

The creature’s tail flew up out of the water, and the man’s head was suddenly gone from his shoulders. Blood fountained. Two other men flung themselves forward, reaching for the child–

And it was too late. The creature, whatever it was, was a blind spot to Vanyel’s Othersenses, and Farsight missed exactly what happened, concealed by the foam and spray, but he felt the men die. He had just enough time to glimpse those awful jaws clamping down on Arven’s ankle, and then it was gone, and so was she.

_No._

He felt Yfandes’ muscles bunch under him, bracing to explode into a gallop – and then she caught herself, she was fully in his mind and he felt her suppressing the panic, reminding herself that moving carelessly wouldn’t get them there any sooner, she would only lose her footing and injure both of them badly.

Too far. Too slow.

Half a dozen other Guards, red and blue-clad alike, were already in motion, sprinting, diving into the black water. No hesitation. Karis was on the shore now – _safe_ , the quiet voice in his head marked – and she was screaming, trying to tear free of her Sunsguard, but they held her firmly, and within a second sense seemed to catch up with her. She went limp.

His Thoughtsensing couldn’t find Arven; he was too far away, she wasn’t Gifted, and with the protective talisman she wore that incidentally shielded her against Thoughtsensers, her mind didn’t glow brightly enough. He fixed onto the minds of the Guards in pursuit just in time to feel three lives snuffed out.

Yfandes skidded on a patch of unseen ice, and this time, despite his best efforts, Vanyel did lose his grip on her mane. He reacted in time to roll into the fall, tucking his chin into his chest and bracing his hands on the back of his neck to protect his head – all Heralds had that training – but he lost his Farsight, and he landed _hard_.

Vanyel lay on his back, half-stunned, his ears ringing, unable to breathe. Yfandes had rammed up her shields as it happened, forcing him out of her mind. He’d had the wind knocked out of him before; he knew it would pass, he would be able to breathe again in a moment. But he didn’t have a moment, they were too far away, too slow, too late. Stupid, stupid, he hadn’t been ready–

 _:Van:_ Savil sent. Her mindvoice was like marble, eerily calm. _:I’m going in. Anchor on me:_

The overtones conveyed the rest. Vanyel couldn’t reach them in time, and Savil knew that. She was the only mage close enough and she thought she could still find Arven before it was too late. Vanyel could use Fetching to pull both of them out, even from a distance if he pushed his Gift hard enough, but he needed a reference-point.

 _No,_ he thought, desperately, _it’s too dangerous, don’t–_

 _:No choice:_ She pulled him into full rapport, though not sharing senses, and then she flung herself off the bank, piercing the water like a blade. The grace of it surprised him; he had forgotten that she, too, had swum and played in k’Treva’s pools.

He felt the shock of the icy cold as though in his own body, but she had gotten in a deep breath, and her physical shields were at full power, including a bulge that somehow held a pocket of air in front of her face – a technique she must have learned once, or more likely invented, and never thought to teach him.

She flung fireballs from both hands, not ahead but behind, the water around her exploding into steam. It seemed ineffectual, and it took a moment before Vanyel realized what she was doing. Not attack, just use the force for propulsion. Impressive _,_ the same quiet voice in him noted. For all his power and skill, Savil had three times the experience; she had been a Herald for sixty years, and was still First Herald-Mage in the Senior Circle for a reason.

Vanyel clung to her mind, the link between them wavering as she drove herself deeper and deeper. He still wasn’t getting much air, but he did his best to blot out the feeling of suffocation. _Center and ground_. He threw his mental hands towards the nearest node, no time to filter the power through his focus-stone, he had to do it the quick-and-dirty way and let it scorch his channels, swallowing it into himself before pushing it through to Savil to fuel her desperate chase.

 _:There:_ she sent. He didn’t know what she had seen, but there was a note of relief, and she pulled on the energy-link between them until spots danced against Vanyel’s closed eyelids. He felt her shape the power into a huge shield, somewhere ahead of her. A curved barrier – no, a sphere – and he felt a moment’s helpless confusion, until something battered against it, and Savil drew even more power from him, tightening the weave of energy until it was perfect, the strike bouncing back rather than breaking through.

She had trapped the creature inside it with her.

…Off in the distance, something tapped at his shields. A familiar touch. _:Busy:_ Vanyel flailed. The mindtouch receded, but he was vaguely aware of hands on his physical body, and seconds later, he found that he remembered how to suck in a deep breath. His thoughts cleared a little.

Focus on Savil. He still couldn’t perceive what was happening directly, either through her eyes or his own Othersenses, too busy just holding the link and feeding her energy to focus on anything except the surface thoughts he could pick up, most of which weren’t in words. He felt her considering the situation, with a distant, calculating attitude that he recognized from his own memories of critical moments in battle. The way everything could slow down, crystallizing each fraction-of-a-second decision. It might have been years since her last combat, but she had spent almost forty years in the field, riding Valdemar’s most dangerous circuits, and old reflexes prevailed.

 _:Be ready:_ she sent.

Vanyel lay on his back, eyes closed, and remembered to take a few deep breaths. In and out. _Center and ground._ He reached into the Web – which was roiling, confused, aware of the frantic battle but somehow still blind to its source – and, through it, drew on the Heartstone, too well-shielded to reach directly from here but nearly unlimited in its power.

Through Savil’s surface thoughts, he sensed the creature rattling around inside its prison. It didn’t appear to have noticed the mage inside with it.

–Now it had.

The attack came out of nowhere, but Savil was ready, and her physical shields held against the tail-blade that rammed into her, though the force of it flattened her against her own barrier.

She pulled Vanyel even closer, into the intimate meld of true concert-work, and he realized that she had snatched the opportunity to wrap a band of force around the creature. Not an attack, or not a direct one; the monster’s hide was nearly impervious to magic, but its magical defenses were stronger than its attacks – he wasn’t sure if it _could_ attack with mage-energies, except by slamming into something with force both physical and magical, and she hadn’t given it any room to maneuver.

A scuffle happened at the speed of levinbolts and thought, Savil’s attack sucking away at his reserves even as he replenished them from the Web.

 _:Got her:_ she sent, still frighteningly calm. _:Van. Now:_

With her mind as a reference, he found Arven’s life-force, a fading bundle. She was unconscious, he couldn’t feel her mind at all, but Savil was gripping her tightly, pulling the small, limp body inside her own personal shields.

With the full power of the Web and the Heartstone behind him, Vanyel Reached. _Here to there._

–His Gift strained uselessly against an immovable wall. It wasn’t the weight, or not that alone; it was the Changecreature’s will, gripping Arven’s ankle with greater force than merely teeth. He couldn’t pull her free, and with the beast’s magic-resistance and much greater mass, he wasn’t strong enough to Fetch it along as well.

Yfandes added her strength to his, blazing blue-white, and still it wasn’t enough.

 _:I can’t–:_ he started, panic rising.

Savil poured her own strength into him, reversing the flow between them, but even together, they couldn’t.

He felt the swerve in Savil’s thoughts, but she didn’t pause to explain. _:Wait:_ she sent, and her power flashed out. His brain spun in confusion before he realized what she had done – she had summoned a force-dagger to her hand, reached in, and sliced through Arven’s leg, just above the ankle, yanking the child fully inside her physical shields before the monstrous creature could respond. 

Vanyel felt a beat of dull respect at her ruthlessness. She hadn’t hesitated for an instant.

 _:Now:_ she prompted.

He tried again, but before he could finish anchoring and complete the mental motion to Fetch both of them, the beast’s head and snout spun around, faster than he had imagined possible. Shattering the hasty barrier-wall that Savil had started to weave. With its preferred target snatched out from under its nose, it latched onto the one thing left in reach, crushing a thin point in her personal shields and fastening its jaws on Savil’s still-outstretched hand.

Her pain whited out the link for a second, but then it cleared, Savil folding it away, just as he had learned to a long time ago. _:Arven first:_ she sent. _:Get her out. I can manage. Go go go–:_

 _:No:_ Vanyel sent, helplessly, but he knew she was right.

His channels were already scorched and tender, his head a solid bar of agony, but the pain was a distant afterthought. _:I’m with you:_ Yfandes sent. _:Go:_

He fixed his Gift on Arven. _Here to there._

It felt like the inside of his head was tearing apart, splitting under the pressure – but a second later, Arven was there, a wet chilled weight on his chest, the icy river-water he had brought with her fountaining out. Yfandes was fully in his mind, cushioning him from the backlash, somehow holding off the inevitable reaction-headache. He hadn’t know she could do that.

 _:Not for long:_ she sent. _:A minute, maybe two:_ The unspoken implication; he had better make good use of that time, because he wouldn’t be good for much afterward.

He tried to find Arven’s life-force with his Healing-Sight, and couldn’t – but seconds later, hands were there, lifting her. _:They’ve got it:_ Yfandes sent.

Savil.

He grasped at the link with her. _:Get yourself free:_ He was drained enough that he would surely pass out if he Fetched her weight even that short distance, but that, and even Savil losing an arm, were an acceptable price.

 _:Can’t let it go:_ she sent.

…She intended to keep fighting.

 _:No:_ Vanyel protested.

 _:This wasn’t an accident:_ Her mindvoice was still firm despite overtones of pain and exhaustion. _:Someone sent it:_

Vanyel…hadn’t gotten that far. His mind skidded against the theory, and then he pushed the confusion aside. Later. Deal with the emergency first.

With Yfandes scaffolding and supporting him, he linked the full power of the Web directly to Savil. The creature might be magic-resistant, but even colddrakes weren’t impervious. Kellan was with her as well.

Now that it had her, the creature didn’t seem to know what to do with the conscious, struggling, well-shielded mage in its grasp; after a couple of fruitless snaps at her head, deflected by her reinforced shields, and another failed attempt to ram the inner wall of the spherical shield, it gave up and hung in the water, Savil’s forearm still firmly trapped in its teeth.

She aimed a force-dagger, then another, but it dodged both times, the energy grazing its scaled hide rather than penetrating.

Vanyel could feel Savil thinking. Calibrating. It wasn’t immune to magic; such-and-such a strike, dead-on, would be enough; but the creature wasn’t going to hold still for her.

 _:Need to trick it:_ Savil didn’t pause to explain how, just yanked on the mind-link again, swallowing his energy into her own reserves until Vanyel’s ears rang and he couldn’t see – and then she went limp, and dropped her physical shields.

The creature stirred, surprised. It hesitated for a moment, maybe suspicious, and then coiled to strike

For that fraction of a second, it was focused on attacking rather than defending, and that was all Savil had needed. She didn’t even move her free hand, just threw the dagger of mage-energies she had prepared. Enough, more than enough, to rip a deep gaping wound through the beast’s hide.

Even as the bladed tail swung up and around, faster than it should have been possible to move underwater, and slammed into her unprotected back.

Vanyel reacted fast enough to raise his own shield, and it was almost but not quite sufficient; the barrier shattered, but absorbed enough of the attack first that it didn’t actually slice Savil in two. Even so, it laid her back open to the bone, and he felt the crunch as though in his own bones as her spine shattered, everything below her chest suddenly numb and useless.

 _:Got it:_ she sent with quiet satisfaction, even as the link faltered.

_:Savil, no, hang on–:_

Before he could finish, she dropped her end of the mind-link.

He grasped for her with Fetching, but the creature, though in its death throes, wasn’t quite dead yet, and it seemed to instinctively resist. Its jaws had spasmed, clamping down hard enough on Savil’s arm to grind the bone to a paste, but not quite enough to conveniently sever the limb, and it definitely wasn’t letting go.

Everything seemed to have gone very still, condensing down to a single point that hung like a jewel. The sort of moment he would remember forever.

He could Fetch his own body to where she was, but even with Yfandes’ full support, he might not stay conscious. A fat lot of good he would be to anyone if he passed out at the bottom of the river.

But he could get to her the normal way. Maybe. If he could remember how to move… _:’Fandes, help:_

 _:Don’t struggle:_ Yfandes warned, and suddenly his limbs didn’t belong to him anymore. Vanyel tried to relax into it, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs as she rolled his body sideways; his hands moved of their own accord to wrench off his boots, tearing fingernails in the process, and tear his cloak over his head.

He was thoroughly disoriented, but he must have been right next to the river; within seconds, the uneven packed snow under his feet shifted to smooth, hard ice.

 _:Blast it:_ Yfandes sent, mentally showing him a glowing line that marked a circle around him, and he hesitated for only a second before obeying, and falling through with a messy splash. Distantly, he heard someone cry out, and ignored it.

The water that closed over his head felt like a thousand daggers slicing his skin, but Yfandes had seized control of his lungs, making sure he took in a good breath and held it.

 _:Levinbolt:_ she sent, aiming his hands. She could take over his limbs, and much more gracefully in the water than on land, but not his Gifts.

He followed the directive, and blasted forward, he and Yfandes working together as though they were a single being, a shared body and mind, like he had let her do so many times when she was teaching him to swim.

 _:Mage-light:_ she instructed him.

The water flared white, and he saw Savil’s body, held in the grip of the still-twitching beast. Both of them settling towards the riverbed, the sluggish current tugging them downstream.

His lungs were already on fire, his vision closing in to a tunnel and the cold eating away his strength, but Yfandes was with him. _:Small fireball:_ she urged, guiding the placement of his hands. The force of the burst carried him forward until Savil was within reach, and he-and-Yfandes gripped her as gently as they could.

She was still semi-conscious. _:?:_

 _:I’m here:_ he sent. _:Hang on:_

Yfandes drove him forward, still guiding each step. _:Force-net. Now pull upward, gently. Help is coming:_

The light at the surface drew nearer – and then further, as Vanyel’s vision faded to black. He couldn’t hold onto the mage-energies anymore; they slipped between his mental fingers.

_:Chosen, don’t–:_

It was too late; involuntarily, he gasped in a mouthful of water, but he didn’t let go of Savil.

 _:Chosen!:_ A blazing mental slap. _:Stay with me:_

Where was the surface? He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel his body, but he could still feel Savil. That was all that mattered…

 _:Swim!:_ Yfandes sent. _:Chosen, you have to swim. Go!:_

Which way was up? He couldn’t tell anymore, and he was so tired…

 _:Chosen, I’m com–:_ She broke off. _:Just hang on:_

Vanyel’s thoughts were slow, confused. There was something he had to do, had to had to had to–

He couldn’t seem to move his limbs, but somehow the water moved around him anyway, and then something changed. The pressure against his face vanished.

 _:Breathe:_ Yfandes sent, and he choked on a breath that was half air, half water, scrabbling for the surface with numb, deadweight limbs. The water was choppy; he managed to get one good breath, but then a wave smacked him in the face at exactly the wrong moment, and his throat spasmed on it.

Something or someone had ahold of him. _:Relax:_ Yfandes sent, ringing steel.

–He must have blacked out for a second, because suddenly he was lying on his side on a hard, cold surface, halfway through a painful coughing fit, his throat sandpaper and his head a molten cauldron of pain, someone was supporting his cheek and rubbing his back, murmuring to him in reassuring tones but the words were muffled as though he were still underwater.

 _:Savil:_ He sat up, reeling, pushing away the hands that tried to restrain him, blinking until the black-spotted blur resolved into something he could make sense of.

Savil lay on her back, her crushed arm freed from the creature, which lay several yards away, puddled in loops of black flesh. The blood that oozed from the gash in its side was a hideous greenish-blue – which meant that the crimson staining the snow came entirely from his aunt. Andrel was there, his hands on Savil’s forehead and his eyes closed in deep trance, and already a dozen other green-robed bodies were behind him, joined in a frantic meld.

Savil’s face was bloodless, almost as white as the snow, lips grey. Someone had draped a blanket over her, for all the good that was likely to do. Her eyes were open, and he could feel her mind, shields down, pain and weakness fogging her thoughts, but Kellan was with her.

Somewhere outside the circle of snow that was the only thing that mattered, a voice rose, and he felt Savil’s gratitude as the agony faded. 

_:Savil:_ he sent, scrabbling for her uninjured hand. Something was wrong with his head, Mindspeech wasn’t working like it ought, but it didn’t hurt.

 _:Ke’chara:_ She recognized him, even through the buzzing confusion, she knew she wasn’t alone. _:Glad…you’re here…can…say goodbye:_

 _:No:_ He couldn’t really feel her hand in his, his own fingers too numb. _:Savil, don’t. Hang on:_

A ripple of sad amusement. _:Can’t give…me orders… I outrank you, ke’chara:_

 _:No:_ It wasn’t allowed. There were a dozen Healers working on her. That had to be enough.

 _:I love you:_ Savil’s mindvoice seemed to come from a long way off. The bottom of a well, maybe. _:Van, I’m sorry…proud…tried…promised…you… not alone…:_ Her thoughts were incoherent, coming apart in fragments. _:Shadow-Lover…questions…:_

He wasn’t sure if she was addressing him anymore; her mind was falling into stillness, like the dark water below, except for something like a single ray of sunlight. She was grateful to have her friends at her side, but he could feel her reaching out and away as well, in some direction that didn’t have a name. For Jaysen, for Mardic and Donni, for Lancir and Elspeth and Justen and Deedre and a dozen other absent faces…

Vanyel wept, but silently, and there was no sting, only the hot tears on his frozen cheeks.

 _:Promise:_ and then there were no more words. Only love, apology and regret, and resignation that shifted gradually to a deep sense of peace. Nothing hurt, and she wasn’t afraid.

Yfandes watched through his eyes, silently, making no attempt at reassurance. Only bearing witness.

Vanyel felt the moment when the Healers finally gave up, admitting defeat, and Andy let go of the energy-link and just stroked her hair, bending to kiss her forehead.

He felt her die. The moment when the still vessel of her mind became nothing at all. A thread torn out of the Web, a crushing pain in his chest that even Stef’s Gift couldn’t cushion, as the snapped strings of mage-energies rebounded on him, their partial creator. He couldn’t draw breath, it felt as though his heart would burst, but he didn’t care. _Why is my heart still bothering to beat? Why should I ever want to breathe again?_

Savil was gone. He was never going to see her again. Not in her armchair, wine in hand as she expounded on some obscure tidbit of mage-craft. Not in his parents’ suite, arguing with Father about taxes. Not in the Web-room. Not on the other end of a Mindspeech link, offering her advice and presence…

His mother in everything but flesh, she had been at his side for so many years, and he hadn’t been able to save her. _I failed you, I failed–_

The Death Bell tolled, and he crumpled forward over Savil’s broken shell, and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that this is news to ANYONE at this point, but I am a horrible person.


	3. Chapter Three

Heart in her mouth, Shavri sprinted towards the screams.

She and Treven had been all the way at the far end from Randi. The worst possible place. Shavri had become quite proficient with the foot-blades, enough to move faster than she could run, but barely a dozen yards into skating there, Treven had seized her and bodily dragged her off the ice, not explaining until he had her on the bank. He hadn’t given her much even then, only a terse _we’re under attack._ She had tried to run with the things on her boots for a few yards more before falling on her bottom, and then sparing ten seconds to rip them off.

She slipped again, nearly falling, and Treven caught at her hand. Together, steadying each other, they ran.

Ahead, she heard a series of odd cracking sounds, loud and sharp but muffled.

 _:Kilchas?:_ she tried. She had gone for Savil first, after seeing Vanyel go tearing past her on Yfandes’ back, clearly occupied. The older Herald-Mage had wordlessly slapped away Shavri’s mindtouch.

Kilchas was receptive, but felt as baffled as her. _:I don’t know what’s happening:_ A pause. _:Randi’s safe. Sandra and I are shielding him in case:_

 _:Don’t strain yourselves:_ Shavri warned, pointlessly, and dropped the connection, some of the screaming tension in her gut uncoiling. Randi was all right; the attack, whatever it was, apparently wasn’t aimed at him.

 _:In the water:_ Treven sent, along with a flashed image; it had the hazy, rough-sketched quality of something passed down through half a dozen Mindspeech links. _:Some kind of Change-monster:_ Sudden, dawning horror. _:It’s got Arven:_

 _:Oh no:_ Shavri’s knees nearly gave under her, but Treven held her up, and she found the strength to keep running.

She nearly tripped over Van, who was sprawled on his back in the snow, eyes closed, his mouth and throat moving in fish-like gasps. Yfandes’ form was nearby, in the corner of her vision, also on the ground.

 _:I’ll handle this:_ she sent. _:Trev, you go ahead:_ Despite the jolt of panic, whatever had happened to Vanyel wasn’t the main emergency.

Falling to her knees, she dove into her Healing-Sight. _Oh, thank the gods._ He wasn’t badly hurt – there was no damage to his spine like she had feared, he was just winded. A hard enough impact could send the band of muscle that helped draw air into the chest into spasm, temporarily making it difficult to breathe.

A warm nose nudged her shoulder, and Shavri found herself looking into a pair of large blue eyes. _:He fell. My fault:_ The voice in her head was a woman’s, husky and very worried, and shaky, leaking suppressed pain. _:Is he–:_

 _:He’s fine. Just need to remind him to breathe:_ She reached for Vanyel’s mind – and bounced off his shields. _Ow._ It felt like stubbing her mind on a rock.

 _:Busy:_ He seemed to be in trance, all of his attention focused elsewhere.

Busy with what, she wanted to ask, but it wasn’t the time. His lips were turning dusky, and he wasn’t in his body enough to focus on taking deep breaths. She focused on her Healing-Gift, finding his center and flinging a hasty bolt of Healing-energy. He drew in a wheezing breath, then another. She watched with satisfaction as colour returned to his face. A deeper check showed two badly bruised ribs and a sprained shoulder, but no broken bones.

“Yfandes,” she said out loud. “Are you hurt?” The mare had made no attempt to stand, and Shavri hadn’t missed the hint of shockiness in her mindvoice.

_:…I sprained a hock. I think. I hope it’s not broken:_

“Let me have a look.” Shavri laid her hand over the foreleg. “…Not broken, but you’re very lucky it’s not.”

 _:Hurts:_ Yfandes’ mindvoice had a gritted-teeth feel. _:Distracting. Van needs my help, but I can’t–:_

“I can give you a nerve-block.” She wasn’t sure if Stef’s sort of painblocking would even work on Companions, but they were still flesh-and-blood animals, and the parts were the same. Shavri closed her eyes, and focused in.

“There,” she said, maybe fifteen seconds later. “Better? Ought to hold the next ten minutes or so.”

_:Yes, thank you:_

“What’s happening?”

 _:Savil’s gone in after Arven:_ And then Yfandes was gone as well, her attention turning entirely toward her Chosen and whatever silent battle he was waging. Vanyel wore the empty expression of a mage deep in trance, but he was sweating, and her Healing-Sight sensed his body labouring under the exertion, his pulse already racing. She couldn’t tell what Gift he was trying to use, but he was pushing it hard.

Startled, she cried out as, with a cracking sound, a limp form appeared from nowhere in Vanyel’s arms. Waterlogged woollens and wet black hair.

Blood everywhere.

For a moment, she was too shocked to move, but she jarred herself into action. _Do your damned job, Healer._ She scooped Arven’s limp body into her arms, lifted her away from Vanyel, and laid her flat on the ground, searching frantically for her life-force. _Please don’t be too late, please please please–_

The little girl wasn’t breathing. Her pulse was slow and erratic, and too weak to feel even at her throat, Shavri could only See the motion of her heart directly with her Healing-Sight. Arven was young and healthy, with a child’s resilience, but her body was starved of air, and she was small enough that the icy water had chilled her rapidly. The patterns of her life-force moved sluggishly, fading.

Which was a mercy, given the crimson flood that spread from the stump of her right leg, severed neatly at the lower calf. Every heartbeat was driving her life out into the snow; it might be only thanks to the cold slowing her pulse that she hadn’t lost too much blood already.

No time for delicate work; quick and sloppy would have to do. Shavri unfastened her own belt, willing her hands to stop shaking, and then fastened it as a tourniquet, tightening it as far as she could.

Blood squirted, and then stopped.

 _Now_ she could worry about the rest. Shavri bent over and sealed her mouth over Arven’s, breathing her own air into her lungs even as she felt around, trying to establish a steady enough link to feed through Healing-energy.

Her attention was so completely on Arven that she barely noticed another Healer joining her, then a third, seamlessly slipping into a meld, doubling and tripling her reserves. Wielding their shared power with care, she poked and prodded with her Gift, occasionally bending to physically force air into the child’s lungs, until Arven coughed wetly.

Shavri slumped with relief, still holding the energy-link. _That was too close._

And far too reminiscent of a particular night by the same river twenty years ago. When a younger Shavri had, just like now, run towards the screams instead of away.

“Shavri?” The voice was Treven’s, very out of breath. “Oh, thank the gods, you’ve got her. What do you need?”

She tried to think. “Dry blankets. Heat-spell. Clean bandages.” _To know what in all hells is happening._ Were they still in danger now? If it had been a planned attack, a river-beast might not be the only threat, and they were awfully exposed.

“Right, I’ll–” He broke off, spinning around, at another rumbling explosion behind them, punctuated by ice cracking and a splash. “Gods!”

“What?” Shavri said dully.

Treven’s face was already controlled again. “Van just blasted a hole in the ice and went in.” A pause. “Savil’s still down there. She’s…contained it. The Changecreature. Only she’s trapped now.”

That wasn’t good at all, but Shavri had no space for it. “Where’s Karis? Is she hurt?”

“She’s fine. Sola, um, jumped her to the House of Healing.”

“What?” Shavri said blankly.

A tawny form seemed to appear from nowhere. _:Healer:_ Another voice in her head, female, deep and rich – the cat sounded a little like Bard Breda. _:Care for a ride?:_

“Will it harm Arven?” Shavri said tightly. “She’s still critical.”

_:It ought not. I will be very careful, and the distance is short:_

She hesitated, then reached to lift the tiny body in her arms again, and closed her eyes. “Then yes, please.” She hated the thought of leaving Van on his own, but her priority here was clear – she was a Healer, not a mage, and she didn’t even have Need today. Leave the fighting to others, and focus on what she could do.

“I’ll warn Aber–” Treven started.

 _:Brace yourself:_ the Suncat sent. Shavri felt warm fur brush her cheek.

A moment of disorientation, falling, and then she was somewhere else, still kneeling with Arven in her arms – and racked by sudden nausea, her vision a blur.

Someone yelped. “Shavri! Are you–”

Helplessly, she fell back on her bottom. _:Arven:_ she sent. _:Take her:_

Hands took the too-light burden from her grasp. Shavri bent over her folded knees, pressing her palms to the cool stone floor, trying to wrestle her queasy stomach into submission.

When she opened her eyes, Aber was looking right at her, concerned. “Shavri, are you all right?”

She coughed. “Think so.” Swallowing saliva, she dug in her pocket for a handkerchief and wiped her eyes, which were still watering. “I felt really ill for a moment. Is that a side-effect?” She didn’t get sick from Gates.

“I think so. Seems it hit you harder than Karis.”

 _:I apologize. That’s my fault:_ Sola butted her head against Shavri’s shoulder. _:It’s more work to carry two at once, and I was putting all my effort into cushioning Arven, not you:_

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now.”

“Here.” Aber offered his hand, pulling her to her feet. “Are you up for helping? I wouldn’t ask, you’ve already done enough, but we need all the hands we can get.”

“Of course.” She was dizzy, her skin clammy under her robes, but it was already receding. “Do you know what–”

Aber shook his head, still hustling her along. “All I know is that Treven Mindtouched me and asked me to send a dozen people out to deal with other injuries. I don’t know who’s hurt, though.”

Shavri closed her eyes. _Van, please be all right._ A moment later, she remembered to add the same silent plea for Savil.

The other Healers and trainees on duty, led by Alia, had already stripped Arven out of her soaked clothing and bundled her in heated blankets, except for the stump of her leg, which was lightly bandaged.

Karis sat at the head of the bed. One arm was bound in a hasty sling, and there was an ugly cut on her cheek, but she looked otherwise unhurt. She was stroking her daughter’s wet hair, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer.

Alia caught her eye. _:Shavri, I could hand you the reins again if you like–:_

Which, in Alia-speak, meant ‘please please please take over, I’m out of my depth’. Shavri nodded, and stepped in to take her place, dropping her shields and joining the larger meld. As always, no matter the gravity of the situation, the stillness and peace of it eased her nerves, like sinking into a warm green pond.

Arven was still deeply unconscious. Her pulse was steady now, but she had lost a lot of blood, and her breathing was strained.

 _:Alia, get the air-of-life talisman:_ Shavri sent. Apparently no one else had thought of it yet – well, treating the young heir to an allied kingdom was enough to make anyone nervous and scattered. Anyone but her. It wasn’t Arven’s position that made objectivity impossible for Shavri.

 _Please, don’t let her die._ A pointless prayer to a god that wasn’t listening. She leaned in deeper with her Sight, pulling energy from the meld, searching Arven’s body for unseen injuries.

–The Death Bell’s toll jarred her out of the meld entirely. Shavri found herself clutching the rail of the bed, her knees barely supporting her weight. In the faces around her, she saw shock and confusion, but no answers.

_Oh, no no no, please…_

She reached out with Mindspeech, ramming through the link on a mind that wasn’t receptive at all. _:Treven. Who?:_

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. There was only grief and confusion.

Shavri closed her eyes. _No. How? Why?_

 _:Savil:_ he sent finally. _:She and Van got out, but she…didn’t make it:_

 _:Oh:_ Her breath eased out. _:Thank you:_ It was only fair to trade an update of her own. _:Arven’s alive. She’s not out of danger, but she’s strong. I think she’ll pull through:_

Shavri dropped the connection before he could pick up on her unspoken relief. _Not Van. Thank the gods, not Van._ It was an ugly thought – how could she be relieved that Savil was dead? And yet.

* * *

Jisa ran.

It felt like she had been sprinting for candlemarks, ever since Enara’s mindtouch had slammed into her shields, interrupting her in the middle of her session with Jeren’s patient. She felt a little bad about how abruptly she had leapt to her feet and dashed out without saying a word, but when she relayed the one-sentence version to Melody, in a rapid burst of Mindspeech, the older Mindhealer had been on her heels within seconds and no bother with explanations. She was quite a long way behind now. Jisa was much fitter, and wasn’t going to wait.

_I should have been there._

It was a stupid, pointless loop of guilt, and she knew it – there had been no shortage of guards, no shortage of mages even, and no one could have guessed what would happen – but she was still thinking it.

Almost there. _:Trev:_ she reached ahead. _:?:_ A question that didn’t need words.

He leaned into the link; she could feel the panic and fear that he suppressed, hiding it from the others behind a mask of poise. _:Arven’s in the House of Healing. Van got her with Fetching. He just dove in after Savil:_

 _:To fight the thing?:_ she guessed, pushing down a bolt of worry. Fetching wasn’t one of Father’s stronger Gifts; he would have had to boost _hard_ with node-energy. Was he in any shape to fight?

 _:I think so–:_ He broke off, clearly in conversation with his Companion. _:Savil trapped it in some kind of mage-barrier, but she trapped herself too, and…she’s hurt. I don’t know – he’s been down there a while…:_

Jisa hadn’t thought she could run any faster, but somehow she found a new burst of speed.

 _:Chosen, I’m coming:_ Enara’s mindvoice. _:Five minutes:_

Her Companion had been all the way on the other side of the Palace, supervising some foals on a winter adventure, as she often did when Jisa was cooped up all day at Mindhealers’.

 _:I’m almost there:_ she sent to both Enara and her lifebonded. The tents were in sight, oh, and she could see the messy, gaping hole in the ice–

She skidded to a halt at the edge of the bank and Reached, not with Thoughtsensing – Father shielded so well and he was probably very occupied – but with Receptive Empathy. The panicked crush of minds nearby was like a physical force pressing on her skin. She ignored them, and focused downward.

 _There._ She found the glow of his mind, still several yards under the surface. He was trying to swim upward, but he was exhausted, his reserves gone, and running out of air. 

_He’s not going to make it._

Jisa nearly flung herself off the bank without a second thought, but she stopped just in time. She was lifebonded to the heir – to the very-soon-to-be-King – and that meant there were risks she couldn’t afford. Treven hadn’t actually been able to tell her if the creature down there was out of commission, only that Savil had ‘trapped’ it.

She still couldn’t get a Mindspeech link to her father, he wasn’t receptive at all, so she reached directly for the mind she knew had to be nearby. Maybe it wasn’t the done thing, but she was in a hurry. _:Yfandes? I was going to go in after him, but the–:_

 _:It’s dying:_ Yfandes confirmed before she could even finish the sentence. _:The creature. Savil got a killing blow. Physical shields, you’ll be fine. And, Kernos’ balls, please hurry, he’s–:_

 _:On it:_ She didn’t need to be told twice. Drop the link, reach for another. _:Trev. Van’s in trouble. I’m going in:_ And she kicked off her boots, skidded down the bank and swan-dived into the dark water.

 _:Eeeeeeek:_ she couldn’t help sending down the still-open link with Treven. _:Cold cold cold aaaaaa–:_ She had thought going swimming at Harvestfest was bad. This felt like diving into a pit of needles. Her head was already splitting, and her breasts, and…other parts, were trying to shrivel up.

She followed her sense of Van, like a homing-beacon, until her hands found his tunic. He was barely conscious, shields down, he seemed unaware that she was even there – but he was somehow still holding onto Savil with a death-grip. In the hazy dim-lit green, Jisa could just barely make out the scaly, long-bodied creature that still had Savil’s other arm firmly in its jaws, though its movements were weak and erratic and it leaked a cloud of dark blood.

Jisa tried, valiantly, but there was no way in all hells she was a strong enough swimmer to drag that much weight to the surface. _:Enara, help–:_

 _:Are you a mage or not, girl?:_ Her Companion’s energy flowed along with the words, clean and blazing blue.

Oh. Right. She was officially an idiot. She channeled the power through her free hand, pushing with raw, unformed force, until they started to move.

Her head broke the surface; a moment later, so did Vanyel’s. He gasped for air, inhaling a mouthful of water in the process, and choked, arms moving ineffectually.

Father was a much better swimmer than she was, but that wasn’t good for much when he was nearly unconscious, already at the end of his strength after Fetching Arven to safety. What had he been thinking–

 _:Not our best idea:_ Yfandes admitted. _:We were desperate. I was cushioning him from backlash, but I misjudged how long I could keep it up:_ Shame and contrition.

 _:I’ve got it. Everything’s going to be fine:_ She hoped. Vanyel had gone fully limp against her, his mind dimming; he must have passed out from lack of air, or maybe just sheer exhaustion. Jisa was doing her best to tread water and hold his face at the surface, but he couldn’t help her reach the shore, much less haul Savil as well.

Why wasn’t anyone – oh. The sun was right in her eyes. From the shore, they probably weren’t visible in all the glare.

“HELP!” Jisa screamed, flailing her free arm. “SOMEONE HELP!”

 _That_ got a response. A golden-and-white blur was the first to move, but several blue-clad Guards followed. Treven was _fast,_ just as graceful in the water as on land _;_ he popped up, inches from her, in less than five seconds _. :I’ll get Savil:_ he sent. _:You take Van:_

Easier said than done; she was tiring fast, the cold eating her strength, and her stupid Healers’ robes really weren’t helping; but she wrestled him onto his back and swam for shore. Halfway there, a young Guardswoman joined forces with her, and then a rope slapped down on the water between them. Jisa’s hands weren’t working well enough to grip it, so the Guardswoman helped. Two more Guards waited at the edge of the ice, arms extended, others holding them in a human chain that anchored them firmly to the shore.

They had Van out in seconds. Jisa hadn’t expected getting _out_ of the water to be the hardest part, but it was. Everything was all slithery. Finally, she gave up on dignity and let herself be hauled in by her waterlogged clothing like a dead fish.

Her ears were numb and full of water, but she heard someone screaming for a Healer. The Guardswoman who had helped her was dragging Vanyel up the bank, rolling him onto his side and thumping him between the shoulder blades. Jisa leaned in as well, reaching for his mind at the same time and _hitting_ him with a purely mental blow.

He spluttered, water spurting from between blue lips. Jisa shoved the Guard out of the way, which was probably rude but she didn’t care, murmuring encouragement that she doubted Van could hear. His reserves were gone, but she couldn’t get a Mindspeech link through to share her own strength with him, and it seemed neither could Yfandes; she could feel the Companion’s blue-silver energy bouncing off uselessly.

She needed a Healer, or – right, that would work too. She expanded her awareness again, searching for a familiar mind.

 _:Stef!:_ In hindsight, she had forgotten to be as gentle as she ought, he wasn’t a Thoughtsenser, but she had gotten his attention even if she’d given him a headache in the process.

Where was he…? She had no idea. Where was _she_? Start with that.

 _:By the red striped tent:_ she sent. _:Van needs you:_

Father was coughing in earnest now. He wasn’t quite conscious, but he moaned and flinched away when she prodded his mind again. With mage-sight, she Saw his aura brighten as Stef pushed his own strength through the lifebond, and the moment when he regained his senses; his shields snapped into place, she barely had time to snatch back her probe, and within about two seconds he was sitting up, shaking off her attempts to restrain him.

 _:Savil:_ Sloppy, undirected Mindspeech that barely deserved the title, and then his head spun around. Jisa followed his gaze.

Treven had pulled Savil out of the water, and she lay on her back, bleeding.

Dying.

Jisa reached out and touched Savil’s mind, feeling an instant’s recognition and gratitude before her attention turned away, inward.

Vanyel crawled to her on hands and knees and fumbled for her hand. Shivering hard enough that he could barely stay upright, but he seemed oblivious to that as well.

 _:What:_ a ragged voice sent _:is going on:_ Melody was bent over with her hands braced on her thighs, chest heaving. Jisa had never heard anyone sound out of breath in Mindspeech before; it was impressive.

Jisa tried to answer, and found herself completely at a loss for words. Melody’s eyes darted around the scene. The dead Changecreature, sinewy coils of jet-black scaly flesh looping around and around, its yellow eyes gone milky. The Healers, forming a hushed semicircle around Savil.

Stef, reaching them at a stumbling run, white and terrified, mouth already open to sing.

Her father, clutching his aunt’s hand, weeping in utter silence.

 _:Oh:_ Melody sent, her mindvoice very small. She didn’t move.

Neither did Jisa. All she could do was watch Savil’s slow, hitching breath, sensing the edges of words that passed between her and Van, but Jisa knew they were private. Not for her.

 _:Jisa, sister–:_ Brightstar, finally reaching them, almost knocked her over. _:My Wingsister, is she…:_ He trailed off. _:No. God of my fathers, no:_

 _:Go to her:_ Jisa urged, nudging him around. _:Say goodbye:_

Goodbyes were for the living, she thought distantly. Not for Savil. The Herald-Mage already had everything she needed; she knew she wasn’t alone, that her friends were with her, and that Arven was safe; she would go to the Shadow-Lover’s arms, not exactly willingly, but unflinching. And, thanks to Stef, without pain.

And Jisa already had all the memories she could ask for. Stealing one of Van’s precious remaining moments with Savil, one of the people he loved most in the world, his mother in all but name, wouldn’t buy her anything worth that price.

 _You were the closest I had to a grandmother._ Or at least tied with Lady Treesa, who didn’t even know they were related but still treated her with proprietary affection. What a weird thought.

Treven tugged at her arm. He had stripped out of his wet tunic, accepting a blanket from one of the Guards, and was motioning for her to do the same. Probably a good idea. Jisa was shivering as well, and she couldn’t use magic to warm herself. It had been risky enough casting underwater and hoping no one saw clearly enough to know it was her and not Van.

Other faces appeared. Tran, Keiran and Joshel, Nubia and Katri and Marius – and Dara, standing with the Healers, Need strapped to her side, but Jisa’s flare of hope was crushed in an instant when she reached to Mindtouch the sword and got no answer but apologetic silence. Stef knelt by his lifebonded, close but not touching, singing a wordless croon. Jisa could sense the edges of his pain-soothing Gift, mostly focused on Savil but catching Van as well.

Jisa had never watched anyone die with all of her Sight open before, and she would have said she never wanted to, but for some reason, this time she did. She Saw Savil’s mind settle, a pool that held only darkness and a mote of light, and then nothing at all. Watched her mage-aura collapse into itself, reminiscent of a Gate being taken down from the other side.

She watched as the garden that was Savil’s mind came apart, thorny hedges disintegrating into dust. Strangely, that took the longest – long after there were no thoughts and no emotions left, some of the structure persisted.

The Death Bell rang. Jisa hadn’t realized, not consciously, but it was the first time since her Choosing that a Herald had died while she was within the kingdom. She was in the Web now, and she _felt_ it.

Vanyel jerked as though under a blow, a guttural sound escaping him, and then collapsed across Savil’s chest, sobbing.

It was the worst thing Jisa had ever seen.

Stef hovered uncertainly by his lifebonded. Van hadn’t acknowledged him at all, the entire time, and even without using any of her receptive Gifts, Jisa could read the hurt and confusion in his eyes.

A number of the bystanders seemed very uncomfortable. Joshel in particular looked like a fish out of water, wide-eyed and gulping. Jisa could guess why. It wasn’t just losing Savil. No one had ever seen Van break down like this in public before, and they didn’t know how to respond.

Jisa didn’t know either. _:Melody?:_ she sent, a helpless plea.

Her teacher was finally catching her breath. _:Well, I wish I could give him some space, but it’s below freezing and he’s soaked to the skin. He’s going to give himself pneumonia. We need to relocate:_

Jisa nodded. She…didn’t want to be the one to drag him off Savil’s body, though. Her courage failed her. Melody, she noted, wasn’t moving to do it either.

She couldn’t use magic in front of Katri and Nubia, but her brother was right there. _:Brightstar, can you make a weather-barrier and dry Father’s clothes?:_

A brisk nod, and he rose to his feet, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Jisa looked around. Andrel was still nearby; there were tears on his cheeks as well, his eyes on Savil’s body. _:Andy:_ she sent. _:Van swallowed a lot of water. Can you make sure he’s all right without, um, being disruptive?:_

The Healer answered with silent acknowledgement, and moved sideways on his haunches, delicately resting his hand on Vanyel’s shoulder.

Melody looked startled as the air warmed around them, but then glanced approvingly at Jisa. Van didn’t stir when his clothing started to steam, or when Stef tenderly draped a blanket over him.

Andrel rose, tiptoeing to them. _:He needs a warm bed sooner rather than later, but he’ll be fine, I think:_

Jisa nodded. She wouldn’t rush him yet.

Finally, minutes later, Vanyel lifted his head. His face was red and puffy, eyes bloodshot. “Stef?”

Stef was at his side in an instant. “I’m here.”

Vanyel reached for him, mute and helpless, and Stef opened his arms. Van dived into his embrace, sobbing again.

Jisa wasn’t sure if her father realized they were still in public. Should she and Treven have tried to shoo away some of the random onlookers? Not just Heralds, either. Most of the Healers had vanished, presumably caring for other injured now that there was nothing more to be done here, but there were quite a lot of strangers who must have been nearby at the festival, nobles and commoners alike. Watching as Bard Stefen cradled Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane in his arms, kissing his forehead, singing softly to him. _I wonder what they’re thinking._ Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be ethical to read them and find out.

It would probably be even more conspicuous at this point to ask Brightstar to cover them with an illusion, so Jisa didn’t.

“Van- _ashke_?” Stef murmured finally, brushing a hank of silver hair out of Van’s eyes. “It’s fine, we can stay here as long as you need, but…do you want to go inside? I’m sure you can see…her…again, later.”

Treven started to open his mouth.

Jisa silenced him with a mental slap. _:Don’t:_

 _:What?:_ he sent, confused.

 _:You were going to say we need to investigate:_ Jisa sent. They had been in close enough rapport that she had felt the intent forming. He was right; there might still be magical traces that would fade in the next candlemark, and they needed to study the creature’s body, find out what it was and where it had come from. And who had sent it.

Still. _:Don’t you dare mention it in front of Van. He doesn’t need that burden:_

 _:The other mages don’t have the training–:_ he started to protest.

 _:Then Brightstar and I will handle it:_ She was tempted to slap him for real. _:Let him grieve. Please, please don’t hand him the duty of investigating his aunt’s murder:_

He would do it, if they asked; he would push the pain away and focus on the mission. She knew him. A lot better than Treven did. Maybe that was a problem.

Vanyel still hadn’t said a word, but finally he nodded, and let Stef pull him to his feet.

* * *

Randi closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Come on. You can do this._

Savil was dead.

And Shavri wasn’t here with him, which felt almost more unfair.

It had all happened so fast. One second, he had been sitting in a comfortable chair, tired but content, watching his people enjoy the Ice Festival. The next moment, the screams had come, and he found himself flat on the ground, surrounded by Guards with blades out, with Sandra practically sitting on him and adding a layer of shielding to the one his talisman already provided, and Kilchas on his feet, holding a mage-barrier around the entire tent.

Sondra had been off stretching her legs, and hadn’t been near enough for reliable Mindspeech until it was over, so he hadn’t had a clue what was happening while it unfolded. It had felt like an eternity, but the main events, from the first breach of the ice to Van and Savil’s extraction from the water, had taken less than five minutes.

Even his grandmother’s death hadn’t shaken him this deeply.

He should have been more prepared. Savil was almost eighty. Had been. Though she was – had been, he kept having to correct himself, over and over – in good health, and mages tended to be long-lived.

He had expected her to outlive him.

Elspeth had died in her bed, of natural causes. Not sacrificing herself to save his child.

There were nine dead among his Guard and Karis’ Sunsguard, including both of her mages. Men and women who had put themselves at risk without a second’s pause, diving into a frozen river in pursuit of a monster they couldn’t possibly fight. He would have to send recompense to their families, and the King’s condolences, for all the good those empty words did.

Two civilians had lost their lives as well, a woman and her teenage son who had been too close to the initial breach and slipped through the ice, unnoticed in the confusion. Katri had located their bodies by accident, candlemarks later, while searching the river with her Othersenses for any possible evidence. No one had missed them; they must have come to the city alone for the festival. Randi had ordered an announcement made, but he wasn’t sure if anyone would come forward to claim the remains. He might never know their names.

Later. He had no grief to spare right now.

Randi opened his eyes. “Tell me what you found.”

His daughter faced him, eyes hard and flat, with Brightstar on one side and Treven silently supporting her on the other. “No magical traces to speak of on the scene,” she said tonelessly. “We took the body to the stillroom at Healers’ and cut it up. It was definitely Changed, but Brightstar doesn’t recognize it, so it’s not a common Pelagirs species. It could be natural – I mean, could be it started out as a normal fish, and had the bad luck to land in a patch with a really high concentration of chaotic magic and end up twisted into something else. But it could also be, well, created. For a specific purpose, by a mage.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “We looked at its insides, and it would have been sterile, not able to mate. That’s additional evidence that it isn’t part of a species, known or unknown, but it doesn’t really distinguish between the other two ideas. A mage building a construct for an a-assassination,” she stumbled on the word, but only a little, “would probably want it to be sterile, but the wild magic can have that effect as well.” Another pause for breath. “There are some sure signs that a creature is a construct, not natural, and this one didn’t have any. It could eat and, er, void its bowels, its organs were all fairly normal for Pelagirs changelings, and its defences were stronger than its offence – oftentimes, mage-constructs will be the other way round. They’re built to attack, not last.” Jisa shook her head. “But any smart mage would know that, and it wouldn’t be hard to design a creature that plausibly could be natural, to muddy the trail.”

Silence. His daughter looked exhausted and grey, and Randi ached for her, but he doubted she would welcome comfort, right now. Stony-faced professionalism was all that was holding either of them together.

“That’s one half,” Jisa went on. “There’s also the question of how it got here unseen. It could conceivably have come all the way down the Terilee by accident, but it would’ve come from north of Knowles Crossing, and that’s over two hundred miles away.” She made a face. “And that’s not the unlikeliest part. It happened to go after the Queen, when there were literally thousands of tasty children around. We have no evidence that anything was guiding it, but we wouldn’t know if it was under compulsion, or trained to recognize the Sun-in-Glory, because we didn’t get a chance to study it while it was alive. It certainly behaved like it had a purpose.”

Again, silence.

“What I’m hearing,” Randi said slowly, “is that you don’t have proof for me, but your most likely explanation is that this was enemy action.”

“I haven’t properly done maths or anything, but I tried to multiply some numbers, and…it seems like a one in a hundred thousand coincidence.” Jisa threw up her hands. “Random accidents like that don’t happen! Not without divine intervention. And it’s so convenient for Valdemar’s enemies.”

“So you’re saying…” Randi couldn’t make himself finish the sentence.

“I don’t know! I, just – it doesn’t fit for Leareth to do it either! So I’m just confused.”

Another long silence. Some part of Randi was obscurely, pointless angry with her for saying the man’s name. Which was obviously stupid. If they were calling it enemy action, well, there was one enemy at the top of Valdemar’s list.

He longed for Shavri’s hand around his. And reached for Sondra’s mind instead. _:Love, what do you…?:_

Crammed into the room with him, she bent her head and nuzzled his cheek. _:I love you. I – don’t know what to think, yet. But I don’t have a good feeling about this. I think we’ve run out of time:_

Well, that was stating the obvious, Randi thought.

“I agree that an accident seems unlikely.” He closed his eyes again. “I…didn’t see it coming, that Leareth would try something like this. But we have to remember that we’re missing a lot of context on his strategic resources, and his goals and motives. So let’s see if we can think of _some_ angle where this makes sense.”

Jisa’s face scrunched. “I don’t get why he’d want to assassinate Karis or Arven. Even if he wanted to disrupt the alliance – and that’s _not_ Vanyel’s read – why not pick some plan that looked like sabotage from inside Valdemar? That at least could plausibly wreak havoc even if the main objective failed, like it did here. Whereas now, if anything we’ll be on stronger terms with them, right? Because one of our most important figures heroically sacrificed herself.”

Randi winced.

 _Focus_. He reached to stroke Sondra’s muzzle again. “All right, let’s try this from another angle. Who could pull off something like this? What kind of resources would they need?”

Jisa frowned, but thoughtfully this time. “Hmm. They’d need to have moved fast. We gave less than two week’s notice that the festival was happening. Not enough time to make a construct, so they would’ve had to use one they already had, or an existing Changecreature suited to their purpose. The thing didn’t have that much endurance, Brightstar doesn’t think it could have covered more than twenty miles a day, so it would’ve needed ten days to get here from Knowles Crossing. Without being seen, or triggering a Web-alarm.”

A stumble in his thoughts. “The Web,” Randi said. “Why didn’t it detect the attack? It was a magical creature. We get Web-alarms all the time for Pelagirs beasties showing up on the western border.”

“I don’t really know how the Web works,” Jisa confessed. “Van would be the person to ask. I don’t understand it either – I mean, it was magic-resistant and had native shields, but still. Maybe because it was underwater?”

Someone had tricked the Web.

There was only one enemy who could possibly have that capability.

Because Vanyel had as good as given it to him on a silver platter.

Randi couldn’t see any other explanation. Leareth fit perfectly–

Stop. A stumble in his thoughts – _does he, though?_ Jisa wasn’t wrong that the plan itself was confusing, its goals unclear. Hardly the signature move of a ruthless, brilliant, immortal mage.

Exact motives aside, though, Leareth had the capability. He was a skilled planner, with excellent information on Valdemar. He had once designed a flying race for war, had told Vanyel directly about more recent workings, and might have an entire menagerie of magically-constructed creatures. He didn’t operate in the Pelagirs, but he didn’t have to; he could have made a creature that looked like it came from there, to mislead their investigation. Besides, they had only Leareth’s word on that point, and it might be hard for the Star-Eyed to stop him from mucking in a river even if She could foil an actual invasion.

It hurt.

Randi didn’t want it to be true – which meant that he had to be careful about trusting any of his reasoning on it. _I don’t want to go to war._ And yet that wasn’t the core of it; the real pain was more personal. Selfish.

He didn’t want to have been wrong about Leareth. And, by extension, about Van.

Herald-Mage Vanyel, destined to fight Leareth, maybe their only hope of defeating him. Grieving one of the people he had loved and trusted most. It felt like a betrayal to declare war now, and force him onto a battlefield to fight a man he respected deeply – and that hurt to think about too, because his friendship with Van couldn’t carry any weight here. _I need to be objective._

Another stumble, and this one wrenched at him like a metaphorical broken ankle.

_I don’t know which side he’ll choose._

Randi didn’t see how Vanyel could possibly disagree about what this meant–

No. Stop. _I don’t know either. Not for sure._

Though he wasn’t sure how much the grasping uncertainty was just denial, some part of him wanting to insist that despite the evidence of his senses, this couldn’t have happened, because it didn’t make _sense_ –

It was undoubtably evidence against Leareth. How much more could they possibly need?

And yet he knew Vanyel. Van would vehemently resist declaring war on the spot. He would want to take time to think about it, gather information.

A not unreasonable priority in itself, but it was time Randi had to assume they couldn’t spare.

And then what?

Randi could guess exactly how the rest of the Circle would vote.

Did he disagree?

If it had been Leareth – and even if that didn’t quite fit, neither did anything else, so the confusion could mean that their understanding of the man, all of it filtered through Vanyel, had been flawed in the first place…

If it had been Leareth, the man had deliberately sent a twisted, evil creature to murder an innocent five-year-old girl.

 _If that’s true, I want him destroyed._ It burned in his chest, a cold fire that sharpened his vision, giving him at least the temporary illusion of strength. _You cold bastard. Going after my daughter was your last mistake._

It was hard, so hard, to hold onto his sense that it might be true, and might not. Two possible worlds, and even if one loomed far larger and closer, he didn’t know, not for sure, which one they lived in. His mind wanted to spring to one or the other, to somehow resolve that awful contradiction, so that he could at least know how to feel about it. Where to aim that searing anger.

Sondra said nothing. What was there to say? She sent a wash of sympathy, calming reassurance, and he could sense how she was nudging aside her own unease and confused pain, to focus on being there for him.

 _Careful._ Randi knew that rage was petty, the wrong motivation to drive his actions. A King couldn’t afford to chase revenge. A King, arguably, ought not act from anger at all, and he certainly couldn’t make irreversible decisions hastily. Darvi had taught him that lesson well.

The itch in his gut screamed at him that there was no time to lose, but the situation had kept for decades. One more night had a relatively tiny chance of spelling their doom, and they couldn’t afford sloppy thinking either.

“I need to sleep on this,” he heard himself say. “Treven, we’ll meet tomorrow. Schedule a time, please. Jisa, Brightstar, thank you for your work today.” He hesitated, unsure if it was appropriate to ask. “Er, were either of you planning on seeing Van tonight? I don’t know…if I should visit…?”

Maybe he was being morally inconsistent, but even if Van had in fact been wrong about Leareth all along, and misled his Kingdom deeply, he couldn’t find it in himself to blame his friend. _You were doing your best._ Trying to see the light in an immortal bloodpath mage, to find common ground, and maybe that was insane, but it still felt wrong to call that open-mindedness a vice. Or even a mistake. Perhaps it could never have worked, and yet with only the information they’d had at the time, it might still have been the correct choice in expectation to at least try for peace. They hadn’t known which world they were in yet – and they still didn’t, but the relative likelihood had shifted drastically, that was something he couldn’t deny.

 _This isn’t the world I wanted to be in._ A child’s whisper, broken, pointless.

Jisa licked her lips. “Papa, I was considering going by, but I don’t know that it’ll actually help him, instead of just making me feel like I helped. I don’t want him to be alone, I want him to know we’re here and we care, but…I _really_ don’t want him to feel like he needs to comfort me. Even Melody isn’t going to try talking to him until tomorrow.” She straightened, lifting her chin, and her voice was businesslike again. “Oh, by the way, Melody said she’s clearing her schedule tomorrow and she’s willing to see any of the Heralds who witnessed it, or who were close to Savil.”

“Good to know.” Randi rubbed his eyes. “Tell her I appreciate it.”

* * *

Lissa had never seen her father cry.

Withen wasn’t showy about it, unlike Mother, whose hysterics had grated on Lissa’s nerves and eventually driven her to flee to her father’s study. Neither she nor Withen had been speaking much. What was there to say?

Lissa had been all the way at the other end of the festival, enjoying a cup of hot mulled wine in one of the tents, and in all the confusion, it had taken half a candlemark before she had the faintest idea what the emergency was. She had leapt into keeping the crowd calm and directing the Guards on the perimeter; someone had to.

Keiran had been the one who found her to convey the news.

She had missed her chance to say goodbye.

Lissa had wanted to go to her brother right away, but he had Stef with him, and someone had to keep order as they evacuated the area and cordoned it off. She had guarded Jisa and Brightstar as the two of them knelt in trance and examined the area, preventing anyone else from getting close enough to witness Jisa using her Gift, and then she had helped them load the dead monster onto a sled and drag it to the Healers’ Collegium.

It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that she had escaped, going straight to Van’s suite. Stef had made her wait at the door for long minutes before letting her in, and when he finally did, her brother’s devastated expression had broken her heart.

Tears had never come easily to her. Still, pulling her brother into her arms had been enough to make her weep.

Withen swiped at his nose. A tumbler of brandy rested on the desk in front of him, holding a finger-depth of brandy; it was his third or fourth, she was losing track. She badly wanted to join him in getting nastily drunk, but she couldn’t afford to. There was still work to be done tonight. Plans to make. Keiran was busy but had requested that Lissa meet her later.

“Wish I could go to him,” Withen said abruptly, his voice thick. “Wish it’d help.”

Lissa twisted in her chair, startled. “Van, you mean?” Father was tipsier than she had realized, to be saying something like that out loud.

A heavy nod. “Know it’d only be another burden. We’re not close. I can pretend otherwise, but what’s the point?” Father rubbed a hand over his short beard, glowering at nothing in particular. “Just, I wish our family could be together for this. How badly does a father have to screw up, Liss, that his own son hides from him?”

 _You know the answer to that._ Lissa kept the snarky words to herself. “Father, it’s not just you. He didn’t want _me_ there for long. He needs space right now.”

Withen hunched forward over the desk, elbows pressed together. “At least he’s got Stef, bless the boy.”

“Thank the gods.” Lissa caught herself nibbling on a fingernail, and didn’t bother to stop herself.

“I miss her.” Father’s voice was soft, but weighted. “Know it’s stupid, but…thought she’d always be there. Damn it all, I regret every harsh word I ever said to her.” His eyes were wet, brimming with some nameless emotion. “I did wrong by her. My own sister. Can’t ever repay it now.”

Lissa was probably meant to say something comforting. “That’s always how it goes, Father. People die in the middle of things. And you had good times as well.”

“A few, yes.” A wistful stare. “She was something else.”

“One of a kind,” Lissa agreed.

“Never once saw her back down.” Withen sat back, closing his hand on the glass and slugging back the rest of the liquor.

“Me neither.” A dozen memories rose, crowding out words.

Withen was silent for a long time, jaw working. “Lissa,” he said finally. “She – this wasn’t an accident.”

“No.” Reminded, her stomach dived toward the floor.

“We’re thinking it was _him_.” A particular emphasis on the last word.

“Yes.”

Withen’s brown eyes were almost pleading. “This means war.”

“Probably.” Lissa squirmed. “Father, I don’t know much more than you, yet, and…once I do, I shouldn’t speak of it, necessarily. I don’t know how Randi wants to handle this yet.”

“I understand.” Withen reached out a hand, clapped her on the shoulder, and let his hand rest there. “Look at you, girl. Right there at the King’s side, leading Valdemar. My own daughter. I never…”

Lissa brought her own hand up, covering his fingers with hers. “Thank you, Father.”

He wasn’t looking at her; he had gotten very red in the face, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Proud of you,” he said gruffly. 

_Was that really so hard?_ Lissa held back the mockery. It _was_ hard for Father to speak of his feelings at all, much less praise his children to their face; that was just how he was.

And she wasn’t one to talk; she was hardly skilled when it came to expressing how she felt.

_I love you, Father._

Uncomfortable, she pulled away. “I should go. Keiran wanted to see me.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very very sorry.

It was snowing, and the Senior Circle was meeting without him, and Savil was still dead.

Every time that thought rose into his mind again, which was several times a minute, Vanyel had to struggle briefly to catch his breath. But…nonetheless, despite the crushing enormity of it, the sun had risen as usual this morning. Savil was dead and it felt like, surely, everything ought to _stop_ , and yet he had still woken up needing to use the privy. Elsewhere in Valdemar, close to a million souls had woken up with him, and were going about their lives exactly as normal.

There was an immortal mage in the north with an army at his back. The snow, dancing flakes white-on-grey against his windowpane, was reminiscent of the ice dream, and that observation made Vanyel’s chest ache as well. He had been half-expecting a conversation with Leareth last night – this was new information if anything was. Not that he’d had any idea what to say, or whether he would be capable of saying anything at all, but he had implicitly assumed there would be that closure. And, maybe, a flicker of a hint of some expression in Leareth’s eyes, giving away the answer to a question that Vanyel still couldn’t make himself look at head-on.

The vision hadn’t come. Only what felt like dozens of ordinary nightmares, old and new, wyrsa and battlefields and the cold floor of a gilt temple, but always somehow endingthe same. Savil lying on the snow, bleeding, the life fading from her eyes. Jolted awake again and again, there was always the first instant of confused relief, that it had only been a dream, before Vanyel remembered.

In one nightmare, the Son of the Sun had found him in the temple, as he lay with the blood of dead soldiers on his hands and the sickly traces of their dying breaths on his mind. _Darkness lies ahead. Your most beloved friends will slip from your grasp._ He had said it, and laughed, a madman’s laugh that went on and on – and then Vanyel had turned to find Savil bleeding out on the gilded flagstones, and in the dream _he had done it, he had killed her for power –_ and he had woken screaming, disoriented enough that he nearly blasted Stef into the wall when his lifebonded stirred awake next to him.

And Savil was still dead.

He had to _think_ – had to understand, get this right, it was the highest-stakes decision of his life to date – and yet it kept sliding away from him into fog and pain, every time he tried to ask himself the key question: was this Leareth’s work?

Both possible answers felt intolerable. On the side of ‘yes’ lay a yawning abyss of grief and anger and a child’s pointless, plaintive plea of _why_?

And yet ‘no’ was almost worse, because: if not Leareth, then who? He had nothing, not even wild guesses, just blank confusion. 

The plot itself. Vanyel could think about that, sort of, mostly. It would have required quite a lot of skill, to pull off. Even the ‘failure’ to achieve its apparent main objective had been almost unimaginably costly. And it would have been obvious to anyone clever, really, that Valdemar would throw lives and Gifts at saving Arven, and inevitably lose people they couldn’t afford.

…He was still confused.

Start with the outcome. Not just the way it had fallen out, Vanyel reminded himself, but the various ways it might have, better and worse. Leareth, if it had been his doing, would have gamed it out in detail, along with all his alternatives, and he would have used the plan that was most certain to get him what he wanted in all worlds. If his goal had actually been to destabilize Karse, or disrupt the alliance, he would have chosen something more guaranteed to have that result; so, Vanyel ought to posit a different aim.

Even in the unlikely version where Valdemar had been lucky enough not to lose anyone important – gods, it hurt to think of it that way, as though the dead Guards and civilians didn’t matter – it would have been obviously an attack, resulting in fear and panic. Impossible to keep quiet, because thousands of people had seen it happen. Randi would have to make some kind of public announcement. Vanyel didn’t know what the Senior Circle was discussing right now, but suspected they were drafting a knee-jerk declaration of war.

 _Is that exactly what he wants?_ It was the obvious inference – that Leareth was ready for them, and for some reason, rather than leading his armies into Valdemar, he wanted to prompt _them_ into attacking, on his terms.

The thought jolted him, but he forced his breath to slow. Surely he wasn’t the only one who had thought of it, though he ought to pass it on anyway. _:’Fandes?:_

 _:I know:_ Silent acknowledgement, a pulse of love. _:And, yes, they’ve considered that:_

Vanyel turned away from the window, his eyes drifting past the wall and settling on his desk. Mixed in with contract revisions and treasury-reports, there were notes on mage-research he’d been meaning to review, in Savil’s hand.

He turned his back to it, blinking away tears. _I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and it won’t bring you back._ His aunt had been entirely justified in her paranoia around the Ice Festival, and he had brushed her off, and it was his fault.

 _:Chosen, you didn’t know:_ Yfandes sent, gentle but firm. _:No one saw this coming:_

Which was their failure, and Savil was the one paying the price.

A mental prod. _:Love, this isn’t productive. You’re not thinking clearly right now; you’re just looking for ways to blame yourself. Leave it alone and come back. A lot of other people are on this right now; you can afford to give yourself some time:_

Vanyel sighed. _:Fine:_ She was probably right.

Damn it, though, he missed Stef. He had slept in, after barely sleeping at all most of the night, and his lifebonded had woken him with a kiss just before dashing out to the stupid meeting. It felt bitterly unfair that Randi got to claim him, now, and Vanyel was the one who had to do without; who wasn’t even invited, he was on the outside…

He shook himself again. _Stop ruminating on it._ For lack of anything more productive to do, he went back to staring dully out at the snow.

It was Midwinter Day. _Stef and I were going to go riding if the weather was good._ Which it would have been, if Savil had been there in the evening for weather-working. Ever since Lady Treesa’s ridiculous present, he had been carving out time to teach Stef to ride. Unlike Vanyel, Stef had been raised in the city, a child of poverty; he had never learned. Melody, thankfully, took after her namesake; the mare was steady and patient with her nervous rider, and hadn’t bucked him off once.

They had missed the evening performance too. A pang of pointless guilt, that he hadn’t been able to offer Stef a romantic evening together after all. Why was he ruminating on something so unimportant, when there were far bigger–

 _:I’m glad:_ Yfandes interjected. _:That you’re able to spare some emotions for banal things. You’re finding your footing again. I thought it would take longer:_

 _:I don’t have longer. You know that:_ Vanyel took a deep breath, trying to force his aching neck to relax. _:What’s with this goddamned blizzard, anyway–:_

The realization felt like the floor rising to meet him as he tripped. _:Oh. No. Damn it!:_

The Web hadn’t detected any foreign mages casting within their borders, and they had no reason to think that anyway was throwing blood-magic around nearby – but the constant storms weren’t originating in Valdemar at all. They came from the north. From the mountains. It was very possible that a clever mage could set up some discreet weather-magic hidden in the shelter of those peaks.

 _:I should check–:_ he started.

_:Don’t, love. I’ll pass it on. Katri should be able to look into it, and if not, Brightstar:_

_:But–:_ Thinking of his son, his thoughts stumbled again. _:Starwind and Moondance:_ They deserved to know – about their Wingsister’s death, and about the attack and Valdemar’s plans. _:Did anyone–:_

_:Not yet. Brightstar was too tired yesterday. He was going to try today:_

Vanyel blinked. _:Why?:_ He had vague memories of his son’s presence by Savil’s body, but he hadn’t thought Brightstar had been involved in the rescue at all.

 _:He and Jisa took apart the creature’s body:_ Yfandes explained. _:I can tell you what they found. Later:_

_:They should have asked me–:_

_:No:_ Her mindvoice cut him off like a slap, but one with no sting to it. _:Chosen, you’re allowed to need time to grieve. If anyone had tried to drag you into it, I’d’ve kicked them across the river:_

Vanyel swallowed against the ache in his throat and didn’t answer.

Yfandes waited a minute or two before gently prodding him again. _:Chosen, you should visit Arven at the House of Healing. It would make her day, seeing you, and – oh! I should send someone to hunt down Master Dawson! You were planning to surprise her with a new lute, remember?:_

 _:Right:_ It seemed so petty, now, but it wasn’t like he was doing anything else useful, he couldn’t even _think_. And poor Arven had just had the worst day of her entire life. She had to be so scared, and Yfandes was right, his presence would mean so much to her…

 _:And it’ll do you good as well, love:_ Yfandes sent a wash of affection. _:Come on, you, get dressed and let’s go:_

* * *

“We need a plan to respond, obviously,” Randi said quietly. “But I think we’re not at that stage yet. First, we should go over what we know, and what our questions are.”

Stef watched, his hands never pausing on the lute-strings. Seven other faces turned toward the King, drawn and tense. They were still missing about half the Senior Circle; Joshel, Shallan, Marius, Siri, Kilchas, and Sandra were all absent, dealing with various urgent matters. Stef wasn’t complaining; Randi’s sitting-room felt crowded enough already.

Randi lay in his adjustable day-bed, with the head angled enough that he could see them easily but not upright enough to tire him. The thing had wheels and could be moved between rooms; it was a work of art on the part of the artificers. Shavri stood by him, her free hand on Need’s hilt.

Everyone else looked better-rested than Stef felt, damn them. He had given in and helped himself to some of the chava, though he hated both the taste and how twitchy it made him.

Randi closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First. Since no one’s actually said it out loud yet. We have no proof, yet, but we assume Leareth did this.” A breath, in and out. “Does anyone disagree?”

Dead silence.

“However, that is an assumption, not a fact we know,” Randi went on finally, when no one spoke. “And we need to consider the possibility that it wasn’t him. I can’t think who else could pull off something like this, or why, but…I’m also baffled as to why _he_ did it. And Valdemar does have other enemies. So – I want to get your help thinking of other possible explanations, no matter how unlikely they seem.”

The King paused, waiting.

Stef’s mind had already flashed into motion, even as he worked his Gift in the background. Start with alternate explanations. All of the neighbouring kingdoms were allies, and as far as they were aware, none of them had the kind of splinter factions that might try to sabotage that friendliness; five years ago, they could plausibly have blamed it on one of the Karsite rebel groups, but there had been no hints of recent activity.

Could it have been, not a state, nor an organized group, but an individual or family? Perhaps one who felt they had been wronged by the Queen of Karse? That offered a broader range of possible motives, down to outright insanity – but no madman would be organized enough, and the plot would have needed a _lot_ of resources, beyond the reach of even a wealthy noble family. Gold alone couldn’t buy something like this.

Well, or could it? How good an outKingdom assassin would someone actually need, to pull this off?

It didn’t feel right as a straightforward political assassination, though; it was so specific, and unnecessarily complex. What advantage did it have over poison, or a mage’s levinbolt?

No human assassin to interrogate. Even if they had taken the creature alive, it couldn’t have told them who sent it. And, as it was, they had almost no leads to trace it back to its source.

Harder to intercept. The way it had slipped past their defences wasn’t one a human, even a mage, could easily take advantage of; everyone arriving for the Ice Festival had been searched,and of course any foreign mage entering the Kingdom at all would have been noticed by the vrondi the minute they used magic, but no one had thought to lay a perimeter on the riverbed.

The creature hadn’t set off a Web-alarm, or attracted the attention of the _vrondi…_

Which didn’t make any sense. The Web usually caught intrusions by Pelagirs beasts across the Valdemaran Border. Maybe it was because the creature had been underwater the whole time; running water tended to dissipate mage-energies, Stef remembered that from somewhere or other.

…Stef surfaced from his thoughts just in time to see Randi massaging his temples. “Help me out here, people. I know it’s a lot to ask, we’re all upset and shaken, but we need to move on this.”

Katha lifted her hand, tentative. “It’s a long shot, but this could have been the work of a northern bandit-group. There are several organized rings, and we’ve seriously inconvenienced them by bringing law and order to the region. I don’t know if it’s likely enough to even be worth checking, but if it is, fortunately we do know the leaders of the main groups…”

Stef’s thoughts were already drifting.

The Web… Leareth was much more likely to know how to evade the Web so neatly than a random Outlander mage-assassin. _Everything leads back to him._

Except for the motive. After twenty years of trying to gain Vanyel’s cooperation, why would he choose to earn their enmity now? What had changed?

The answer ‘because his army is ready’ was tempting, but Stef wasn’t sure it held together. Even if he had never been negotiating in good faith, why would Leareth wait until _after_ Valdemar had arranged multiple alliances and doubled their own Guard before stabbing them in the back? And why would it serve his aims to give them any warning in the first place?

The timing could be explained by Leareth reacting to information he had only just learned, but Stef couldn’t think what he could have learned. It hadn’t been from Van, surely; they hadn’t spoken in two months…

Oh. In hindsight, that was odd. Suspicious. Could Leareth have blocked the dreams from his end, in order to avoid letting slip his change of heart?

There was still the question of what could have _caused_ a change of heart, though.

Could he have learned about Iftel? Or that Van knew the location of the pass, and had kept that back? Either was plausible, but even together they seemed insufficient. Surely neither of them could be a huge surprise to him; Vanyel had warned him that they were making preparations, and Stef’s understanding of the man was that he wouldn’t see strategic deception as a betrayal.

No, it didn’t really fit.

But nothing else fit at _all._

Try again from another angle. _Who benefits from this?_

The results were severalfold. Valdemar was down one critical Herald-Mage, and Vanyel was…not particularly functional. Anyone who had wanted to slip some kind of mage-attack past their Border would have done well to choose last night.

…But unless said attack had gone completely unnoticed, no one had taken advantage of the opportunity.

Besides, Savil’s death seemed like more of an unlucky accident, unintended consequence of the failed attack on Karis and Arven. It was much easier to imagine that some other enemy, maybe even an internal one, wanted the alliance with Karse over. It wouldn’t be the first act of sabotage from their own side–

Though, really, anyone clever enough to think of the plan at all couldn’t have put high odds on it succeeding. Karis and her daughter were well-guarded. Directing the creature from a distance, no one could have predicted which specific Heralds would be nearby enough to leap to the rescue and potentially die in the attempt. In fact, had they been just a little bit luckier – if, say, Van had been within arms’ reach of Arven when it happened – maybe no one would have died at all.

 _Oh_. Stef’s breath caught.

One result would have happened in almost every possible world; it was a spectacularly flashy attack, one they couldn’t ignore, and of course they would leap to blaming Leareth for it. Which meant that, almost inevitably, Valdemar was going to war.

As he had already noted, this didn’t seem to benefit Leareth especially. But what if someone else, not Leareth at all, thought that Randi was making a terrible mistake, and wanted him to stop dallying and take the war to Leareth already?

 _…I’m getting paranoid._ Was he really considering that someone on their own side had plotted an attack that had killed a Herald, and could have destroyed their strongest alliance, just because they thought Randi was making a mistake?

Yes, he was. None of the Heralds would do it, of course, but the entire Council was among their suspects.

Stef wasn’t about to say it out loud; this was a conversation to be had later, for Randi’s ears alone, and he ought to at least _try_ to pay attention to this meeting so he could catch Vanyel up later.

“…Brightstar mentioned a spell,” Treven was saying. “It’s very difficult, and he can’t cast it alone. And it needs to be used promptly if it’s to work, but since we have the creature’s body, he thinks we have until tomorrow morning. It’ll allow him to…hmm, I didn’t follow the whole explanation, but to see back in time, and follow the creature as far as they can. Which might tell us more, if they can trace it to its origin. He’s hoping he can convince his parents to come out here and get their help. In fact, he should be trying to contact them again right now.”

Randi nodded. “I’m glad. I suspect we want them out here anyway.” He laced his fingers over his chest, expression visibly unhappy. “We don’t have all the information I’d like, and it’s possible we’re completely wrong, but we can’t afford delay. We need to start gathering our resources. Calling on our allies. Especially since actually getting them here will take days or weeks. We need to get that moving as soon as possible, and then we’ll have plenty of time to come up with an actual plan.”

He closed his eyes. “If we learn in the meantime that some bandit group is responsible, I suppose we’ll have egg on our face and Vanyel will need to do some grovelling in his dream, but I’ll take that gamble.”

Silence. Stef was now badly wishing he had paid more attention. He would have to nab Treven or Dara afterwards and ask them to fill him in.

“Think it’s time to call this meeting and split up,” Randi went on. “Katha, you send word to your agents and activate one of your contingency-plans against the bandit groups, and put out feelers here in Haven, just in case this was inside work. Oh, and figure out how to contact the Icefoxes without giving away their position. Tran, you’re leading questioning the witnesses to yesterday’s scene. Dara, I want you to take charge of getting word out to our allies. Come to me if you need an official letter with my seal. Keiran, you’re going to look at our current Guard-deployments and plan movements to cover the pass, but don’t start anything until you have my go-ahead.” He looked around. “Treven, I’d like you to go with Stef and fill Van in on what we discussed, however much he can – Treven?”

The heir had gone stiff, eyes goggling.

“Treven.” Randi spoke very calmly. The ringing command was back in his voice; it was rare, lately, most of the time he sounded like a tired old man. Not a King. “Treven, tell me what’s wrong.”

The young man didn’t even seem to hear him.

“Treven!”

Finally, his blue eyes refocused. He licked his lips. “Randi, I just heard – my Companion…” He broke off, gulping, and must have resorted to Mindspeech, because a second later, Shavri sat bolt upright, the colour draining from her face.

Stef’s heart was already racing, a sick weight in his gut. _Something’s wrong – oh, gods, Van…_ He reached for the lifebond as hard as he could.

* * *

Jisa lay in Brightstar’s spare hammock, hands pillowed behind her head, as she waited for him to finish contacting k’Treva with the communication-spell. Lonely and restless after Treven left for the Senior Circle meeting, she had swung by and found him just finishing the White Winds Journeyman self-test – like her, he had taken to doing it even when he had no intention of attempting the next step, whenever he anticipated a day of heavy casting. The Master self-test was still right at the edge of their abilities, and it took candlemarks, not something to throw around on a whim, but the Journeyman spell was comfortable by now.

Her teachers wouldn’t have liked how frivolously they were using it. The power-source they drew on was vast, but not infinite, and though it caused fewer distortions in the energy-flows of the material plane than node-use, that came at the cost of disrupting the Elemental Planes of Fire and Earth. White Winds mages were meant to tread lightly, taking no more than they needed.

Jisa felt a bit bad about violating that principle, but she thought their situation was different. Unlike in Rethwellan, which hundreds of White Winds graduates called home, she and Brightstar were the only ones in all of Valdemar drawing on extra-planar energies. Besides, thanks to their independent study, they were far more comfortable projecting their minds to the other planes than most White Winds mages, and she always made sure to go clean up after herself and offer thank-you gifts to the elementals affected.

 _We’ll need to contact White Winds._ As graduates of the school, they had the right to call on it in times of need – and, after she learned about Leareth and then confronted her brother about it, Brightstar had admitted to including Gervase on some of the secret. If they requested help now, they were likely to receive it, but getting a message there in time wouldn’t be easy. Realistically one of them would have to Gate.

Later. Papa would tell them when he had a plan.

Right now, she wasn’t even sure if she was up for even the Journeyman spell. Like Brightstar, she had been using magic all afternoon yesterday while they took apart the Changecreature, but it was a less familiar working for her, thus more draining, and she had been tired going into it after the hectic rescue. More to the point, she was distracted. Maybe Brightstar had been able to push away the image of Savil’s mangled body long enough to complete it, but she wasn’t sure she could without putting some heavy redirects on herself. Need could have helped, but Jisa didn’t have the blade today; Dara and Shavri had been trading off, whichever of them was with Randi. An extra bodyguard. They had no specific reason to believe that a second plot against the King existed, but they were being cautious anyway.

 _:Sister?:_ There was worry and alarm in her brother’s mindvoice.

Jisa seesawed upright. _:What?:_

Brightstar pushed all the way through the curtain of beaded strings that served as a door to his bedroom. “I cannot reach them.”

She grasped for the slim trunk of a potted tree and pulled herself up. “What do you mean?”

“I tried for my pa again.” He rubbed his eyes. “And then my da, and then two other Adept scouts. I could not find them.”

“That’s weird.” Jisa frowned – and the realization hit like a bucket of cold water over her head. “Brightstar. This is Leareth’s spell. What if he knows how to block it?” It was the obvious theory, really; if Leareth, for whatever reason, had decided he was done with talking, of ourse he would want to keep them out of contact with their allies.

Her brother’s silver eyes had gone wide. “Oh. Do you think… Might he have sensed the attempt?”

“Maybe. We should stop trying just in case.” Otherwise she would have offered to attempt it herself. “So I guess we go straight to Gating. Are you ready now?”

Brightstar scrunched up his face. “I need a moment, sister.” His eyes went to the ceiling as well, unhappy. “Jisa, I fear… Have I placed my family in danger?”

“No, I don’t–” Jisa stopped. She couldn’t say for sure that Leareth had no power over k’Treva. He had evaded the Web; he might be clever enough to trick even the Star-Eyed. “We should go,” she said instead. “Now. And warn them.” She centered and grounded, and assessed her reserves. “I don’t know that I can manage a Gate alone, but I could do it in concert with you.” Another technique that had turned out to be perfectly possible, once you looked past the limits that Valdemar’s Herald-Mages had never questioned. It would be easier and cleaner to use the permanent Gate-terminus, with its energy source, but also a lot more conspicuous.

Assuming Leareth didn’t already know about her mage-gift. He was smart; he might have straight-up deduced the purpose of her trip to k’Treva. Nothing to be done, though. Either he had or he hadn’t.

“Thank you.” Brightstar turned back toward the doorway of his bedroom. His bondbird Kalari was stepping from one foot to the other and preening continuously, visibly nervous. _That makes two of us._

“Just a minute, I should tell Enara.”

“Of course.” Her brother’s voice was distant, distracted.

She passed on the update, centered and grounded, and then Reached, meshing her shields with his and slipping into full rapport. _:I’m ready:_

They build the threshold together, Jisa laying down threads of energy crosswise to his; it took less than half the usual time. Either of them could have led the way, but Brightstar was more familiar with his home, so Jisa just fed her own energy through to him while he held the destination in firmly mind, an image of the stone arch in the central courtyard, complete with sounds and smells, guiding the searching tendrils as they reached further and further…

A minute passed. Still nothing.

 _:It is not – I cannot –:_ Confusion, worry shading into fear. The Gate was sucking from both of them now. _:Jisa, it ought not take so long:_

 _:Let me try:_ Seamlessly, Jisa took over, choosing a different point, the doorway to Starwind and Moondance’s ground-floor _ekele_. The Gate writhed in confusion, but she held it firmly by force of will, pinning it down. _Here. This place._

The tendrils searched for her, eager and willing…and kept searching, even as Jisa’s strength spilled out into the Void.

No, it shouldn’t have been taking this long. _Something’s wrong._ Close beside her, she could feel Brightstar’s rising panic.

 _:We’re fine:_ she sent, reassuring. _:We can hold it. Grab me some node-energy, please:_ She was keyed to his wards, and could touch the nearby Web-Heartstone even through the shields, but with difficulty; he would have an easier time, and it was an easier task, one he could busy himself with to help him calm down.

Back up and start over. The Gate resisted, but Jisa had spent the last eighteen months honing her will, and the mindless spell had no chance of escaping her. She tried again, this time anchoring on the mouth of one of the _hertasi_ caves; even if the archway had been taken down or damaged, and Starwind and Moondance had changed their _ekele_ enough that her image of it no longer matched, surely the stone would be the same. Patiently, with forced calm, she held the destination in her mind, letting the Gate draw from her…

And again, it found nothing.

It didn’t make sense. Even if Leareth could block his own communication-spell, it shouldn’t have been possible to thwart a Gate, which routed through the Void…

 _Oh, gods._ Building any structure in the Nether Plane wasn’t supposed to be possible, but Leareth could. He had. If anyone in the world could barricade off an area from Gating in, it was him. Had he been holding this in reserve against them the entire time?

Brightstar, there in her mind, followed the thread of thought, and sheer terror surged, nearly disrupting their rapport.

 _:Focus:_ Jisa sent, leaning on her Projective Empathy and pushing through reassurance even as she clung to the Gate-threshold. In not that long, she would have to abort and tear it down before it drained them both unconscious, but as long as Brightstar could hold the link with the Heartstone, she could spare a few more minutes to keep trying.

Maybe Leareth could somehow prevent her spell from recognizing the destination, but surely he couldn’t blockade the juncture between the material plane and the Void at every point. Which meant that if she could make her way there with dead reckoning, or even get sort-of-close, it ought to work. Maybe.

Jisa had a map that included both Valdemar and the Pelagirs; Savil had drawn it up after one of her journeys home overland, combining the Tayledras scouts’ maps and her own knowledge, and Van had taken it when he went with Jisa, in case they weren’t able to Gate and had to go the long way. She didn’t have it _here_ , of course, but she had a good visual memory.

Hold it up in her mind, align herself with true north...her location on the skin of the world, and where was k’Treva relative to her… _This direction_ , she told the spell. _This distance._ She was pointing blindly, and it wouldn’t have worked at all if she hadn’t mastered the skill of building an un-scaffolded threshold. It took every ounce of hard-won control she possessed, but she was able to corral the confused Gate-spell onto the right bearing.

 _Here_ , she told it, sticking an imaginary pin on an imaginary map. _Here._

–It landed.

The final step was usually effortless, the Gate-spell falling into a stable state, but this time was different. Jisa could _feel_ the destination, and the cord of power that linked her to it, but it was still unformed, without an existing archway to scaffold it. She had to build the threshold all over again on the other side, thread by agonizing thread–

…The moment it was solid enough to be recognizably a door, the Gate snapped into alignment, draining from her reserves until her vision blacked out, twisting the fabric of the material plane around her and yanking it into new alignment.

Blinking away the spots, Jisa saw that Brightstar’s bedroom had vanished, replaced by twisted, denuded trees and endless snow.

 _:Go through:_ Jisa prompted. _:Tell me if you recognize the place. I don’t know how close I got, we might be fifty miles off:_ Brightstar would have ventured at least that far from home with scout-parties, though, and any Healing-Adept would recognize the feel of land they had travelled over.

 _:Are you sure?:_ he sent, uncertain.

 _:I can manage:_ Now that the Gate was complete and stable, it was drawing on her much less.

Brightstar took a deep breath, dropped out of rapport with her, and motioned his bondbird Kalari to stay back before stepping across.

Instantly, she could no longer feel his mind at all. As far as her Gifts were concerned, he was hundreds of miles away.

He stood for a moment in the snow, hands loose at his sides, and then went rigid.

“What is it?” she called across.

Slowly, he turned. His face had gone grey, and his mouth moved silently for a few moments. When he did speak, it was in a croaking whisper, and the membrane of the Gate muffled his words.

“I didn’t catch that!” Jisa shouted. “Louder!”

His strained, cracking. “Something is wrong. I recognize the land – I ought be within range – yet I cannot–” His face crumpled, and she barely caught his next words. “Jisa, I cannot feel it.”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong?”

“I cannot tell – too far – I cannot reach any of them…”

Shouting at each other across an active Gate was the worst way to have a conversation. Jisa gritted her teeth. _Think._ Something was badly wrong.

The safe thing to do would be to call Brightstar back and alert the other Heralds – but no one else could do what she had, and it would be fraught even to explain it; her particular capability with Gates was secret even from her parents. She could hold this Gate a bit longer, but she wouldn’t be able to cast it again a second time for hours if not days.

And they had to know more. That was their main problem, right now, lack of information.

 _:Enara:_ she sent, forcing the mindtouch through Brightstar’s wards. _:K’Treva’s in trouble:_ And the rest felt too big and messy to explain, so she just pushed it vaguely out.

She felt her Companion flow into her mind, stabilizing the link, rapidly sorting through her memories of the last few minutes.

And she mustered her argument.

_:Enara, we need to find out what’s wrong. Brightstar and I will be safer together; we can’t let him risk it alone, we need him too badly. I know it’s still dangerous, but…:_

Her throat clenched; her chest was taut as a drum. And if Starwind and Moondance were in danger, or worse…

Jisa could feel her Companion’s reluctance and worry, but Enara was staying quiet, waiting for her to finish.

 _:Can you ask Treven’s Companion to ask him:_ she sent. _:Please:_

She could have tried for him herself, but holding a Gate took a lot of focus already, and besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted him touching her mind right now. He would know how utterly terrified she was, and might try to hold her back for her own sake rather than his or Valdemar’s.

Jisa waited, brimming over with impatience.

 _:How long can you hold the Gate:_ Enara snapped back at her.

_:…Maybe another five minutes. Not longer, and it trades off against being more tired when I’m there:_

Another pause. _:He says to go:_ Reluctance in every word. _:Randi agrees. It’s a gamble, but…:_ Enara didn’t finish the sentence. _:They want you to wait for Need. Dara’s on her way:_

 _:Oh:_ That was a very good idea. Need couldn’t cast alone, but she could co-cast with Jisa even if Jisa was very tired, and Need had incredible reflexes. 

_:Chosen, you’d better be damned careful:_

_:I will. I promise:_

_:If there’s any hint of danger, you won’t fight:_ Iron in Enara’s mindvoice. _:You’ll run. Promise me that:_

 _:I promise. I should have enough left to Gate right home:_ It would be a lot easier to pull off a normal Gate, from the other side, and at worst she could aim for the permanent Gate-terminus; it was a lot easier to find, like a beacon in the Void, and it provided half the energy just by itself even when you were going _to_ and not _from_ it.

 _:I can help:_ And blue-white energy flowed along their link, cool and soothing, refilling the emptiness.

 _:Thank you:_ Companions weren't really supposed to do that except in emergencies, but this was an emergency if anything was.

 _:Katri’s joining you:_ Enara added. _:She was nearby by chance, she’s thirty seconds away:_

That was lucky. Katri was one of the strongest of the other Herald-Mages, mid-level Master potential, and she had worked in the Pelagirs before. Even if there were other Heralds or Guards nearby who could be spared, she didn’t actually want a bigger escort. They would be a lot more visible, and she and Brightstar would have to guard them against dangers they couldn’t sense.

Her brother was still staring at her; he couldn’t hear the silent conversation, she reminded herself, Mindspeech didn’t work across a Gate. “Brightstar!” she shouted again. “Hang on! We’re coming, just waiting for help.”

 _:Unlock his door:_ Enara prompted her. _:And grab your goddamned cloak. Where’s your common sense, girl?:_

Jisa felt her cheeks heating. She hadn’t thought about winter clothing at all; she was wearing her boots, at least, but they had expected to step directly into the weather-protected Vale.

Brightstar’s rooms were small, thank the gods; it was a strain even to move a few yards from the Gate tethered to her, but the door was close, and she unbolted and flung it wide, then snatched her own winter cloak as well as Brightstar’s from the hooks.

Nothing left to do but wait. Enara went on pouring her strength through their bond, replenishing Jisa’s faltering reserves even as the Gate drank from her.

Dara was the first to arrive, at a sprint, catching herself on the doorway and panting. Her face was grim, but she held Need out, scabbarded and hilt-forward, the accompanying belt dangling.

 _:Good luck:_ she sent with a terse nod.

 _:Thank you:_ With fingers that trembled just a little, Jisa fastened the belt around her waist. _:Need:_ she sent, slipping into rapport. _:Are you ready for this?:_

 _:Haven’t got the faintest idea what bloody disaster we’re about to walk into:_ Need shot back. _:We’ve got the best people for it, though:_

Even if that wasn’t true, it still warmed Jisa’s belly. _:We can do this:_

Seconds later, Katri burst through the open door at a dead run, red-faced, but not too out of breath; they had sparred sometimes in the salle, and Katri was very fit. _:Jisa, what–:_

 _:Just follow me:_ And without looking back, she dived across the threshold.

* * *

Karis took a slow breath. “Would someone please tell me what is happening?” It was very obvious that all of the Heralds in the room were having a Mindspeech conversation, and they had apparently forgotten about the non-Mindspeakers. Stef looked just as baffled as she felt.

Dara turned, opening her mouth, but was interrupted.

“They’ve gone,” Treven said out loud. “Katri went with them.”

Randi’s face had gone the colour of old porridge, but he nodded.

Karis bit the inside of her lip. Her pulse was quickening, her hands threatening to shake. “Went with whom?” she said carefully.

Dara tried again. She had gone very pale under her freckles. “I’m sorry, Karis. Jisa and Brightstar – we think Leareth…sorry, backing up…” Her eyes rolled ceiling-ward. “Brightstar was trying to reach them and the communication-spell wasn’t getting through. Jisa realized that it’s Leareth’s spell, so maybe he can block it. They were worried he might have detected the attempt, and wanted to warn k’Treva, so they tried raising a Gate immediately, and had a lot of trouble. As though that was blocked too.”

Karis blinked. “That should not be–”

“No, it shouldn’t be possible. They did eventually force their way through, by…I’m not clear how, actually, but Jisa wasn’t sure they could manage it a second time. Brightstar sensed something wrong but couldn’t tell more without investigating.” She ran a hand through her short-cropped hair, making it stand on end. “They wanted to cross immediately and investigate while they had the chance. We’ve sent Katri and Need to accompany them.”

Karis nodded, gathering her thoughts. Stef looked as stunned as she felt, but there was relief as well. He must have been worried that the bad news was related to Vanyel.

 _Randi, you sent your daughter into danger? Why?_ It was a stupid, pointless thing to say, so she kept it to herself. She understood why. Jisa was an Adept-potential mage – the only one left, in fact, aside from Brightstar, who was with her, Need, who couldn’t work without a bearer anyway, and Vanyel, who was in no shape for a critical mission.

Shavri’s lips were pressed together hard enough to turn white, and the look in her eyes belonged on an old woman.

“I am sure they will be all right,” Karis said, as levelly as she could. “They are young and strong, and well-trained.”

“Against Leareth?” Tran was shaking his head, wild-eyed. “Are you kidding?”

“He almost certainly isn’t there,” Dara said quickly. “Even if there was an attack on k’Treva, which we don’t know yet, there’s no reason for him to go in person. It’s not his style; he’s always worked through cat’s-paws. Like – damn it! The bandit mage who captured Van when he ran away.”

Randi stared at her. “What?”

“When he was training there in seven eighty-nine,” Dara said impatiently. “He was upset about something and wandered off in a huff, and it turned out some very nasty men were looking for him. Presumably on Leareth’s orders – this was before they had spoken in the dreams, but the man must have been having the vision as well, and wanted to preemptively take out his enemy. Fortunately they underestimated Van, untrained or not, and he used his Gifts creatively and fought them off, but he nearly died.”

Randi scratched at his chin. “I’m sure he told me. I must’ve forgotten. Gods. This whole time, we were saying Leareth can’t operate in the Pelagirs…”

“I doubt he could bring an army through,” Keiran said. “That would be hard to hide, and the Tayledras are powerful enough to make him regret it even without their Goddess stepping in. But the Hawkbrothers admit themselves that it’s not feasible to catch every single outsider who enters their territory, and it seems the Star-Eyed has limited ability to intervene Herself and usually acts through Her people. If Leareth sent an agent, and supplied them with the right mage-artifacts…”

“A small party could have gotten in,” Dara agreed. “That’s not surprising. Hard to imagine they could genuinely threaten k’Treva, but maybe they got close enough to put down some kind of artifact that blocked our ability to communicate or Gate there. Jisa and Brightstar got through by Gating to some spot miles away instead, it sounds like.” She swiped at her hair again. “Not much point speculating. We’ll know more soon.”

Treven was pulling on his blond queue, agitated. “Someone should tell Van – er, and make sure he doesn’t jump straight to Gating in after them.”

Karis twisted to look at Stef. Somehow, through all of it, the Bard had never stopped playing. His hands and posture were relaxed, but his mouth was a thin line, and rage smouldered in his eyes.

“What?” he said, eyes flashing around the room. “You want me to keep him on a leash? Treven, whoever’s messing with our allies and friends, I want their head on a platter. I’m not – if Van wants to go, I’m not getting in his way.”

Randi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stef. Please. I’m already risking my daughter’s life; I’m absolutely not going to risk his as well. Or yours. Given how you feel, maybe you shouldn’t be the one to tell him.” A sigh. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell him at all until–”

“I will speak to him.” Karis heard her own voice, almost before she was aware that she was going to speak. “Randi, we cannot keep this from him. He has a right to know.”

* * *

The sun had vanished behind the trees; afternoon was fading into evening. Jisa’s legs ached. With Need’s help again, she had dared a blind, short-range Gate in the direction Brightstar pointed, since by his reckoning they had landed about twenty miles from the Vale. It still felt like they had been walking for candlemarks.

Katri was bearing up well, though her face was now as grim as Brightstar’s. She had taken the double revelation of Jisa’s secret mage-gift and her impossible Gate capabilities with impressive calm.

Damn it, Jisa missed Enara. And Treven. Her entire mind ached with it. Too far, too far, wrong. Brightstar had left Kalari behind, too, not trusting her to fly away from a fight rather than toward one.

It was too quiet.

Even without Brightstar’s initial anxious commentary, Jisa would have known something was wrong. She had ridden out with the Tayledras scouts before. There should have been animals. Creepy animals, generally, but the complete lack of any wildlife was a lot more disturbing. Nothing rustled in the snow-blanketed bushes. No birdsong. The sky was a clear, empty bowl; the current carpet of snow must have fallen a day ago, but no tracks disturbed it.

They were close. That fallen tree, a log as big around as she was tall that lay above a frozen stream... _I remember this place._ They weren’t more than a half-mile away.

And still, she felt nothing. The pulse of the Heartstone should have been loud and clear.

…No, ‘nothing’ wasn’t right. Jisa sensed _wrongness_. Nothing living moved for miles around. The ley-lines that should have fed into the valley were absent. Even the trees felt dead; she should have been able to sense the trickle of their sleeping life-energies, and she couldn’t at all. She had started out with her Othersenses extended in all directions; now she had her Gifts mostly turtled up behind shields, only feeling around nearby for possible threats. Whatever was wrong, touching it felt worse than the taint of blood-magic.

More and more, Jisa doubted they were about to walk into a battle. It was so quiet. She could still hope otherwise, but.

 _I don’t think this is a rescue_ , the quiet voice in her whispered. _I think we’re looking for bodies._

She should have been angry, but she only felt numb.

Brightstar’s eyes were like shuttered windows. He hadn’t spoken at all for an entire candlemark, not even answering their questions. Still, he put one foot in front of the other, moving like a sleepwalker, following Katri’s lead.

Half a dozen paces ahead at the top of a ridge, Katri stopped dead. Slowly, she turned around. “Come look,” she said, her voice empty of all expression.

Jisa scrambled up the slope. Brightstar followed more slowly, plodding.

Belatedly, she noticed that the trees ahead were bent and twisted, boughs splintered, some of them entirely downed as though by a violent storm. Behind them, their footsteps in the snow were the only traces to be seen.

Ahead, there was…

 _I don’t understand._ For a second or two, she wondered if they had somehow gotten turned around, and come to the wrong valley. She couldn’t pick out a single familiar landmark. It was like looking down into an empty bowl.

 _:Jisa:_ Need’s mindvoice slapped at her. _:Brightstar:_

“What?” she started, turning – and dove to catch him as he crumpled. Katri leapt in to help her, and together they knelt and eased his deadweight to the ground. His eyes were rolled back in his head, and he breathed in convulsive gasps.

Speaking out loud felt safer than Mindspeech. “Need, what’s wrong–”

 _:Give me a bloody moment, girl:_ A brief pause, and then the link broadened, pulling in Katri as well. _:Keep your shields up, both of you. And help me get some extra shielding on him. Now:_

“What–” She cut herself off, and reached to lay her hands over Katri’s, resting on Brightstar’s forehead. Casting without lowering her own shields was tricky, it felt like trying to sew while blindfolded, but it wasn’t complicated work.

She settled on her bottom in the snow, cradling her brother’s head in her lap. His colour was still worryingly grey, but his breathing was steadier now.

 _:He’s not dying:_ Need barked. _:At least, not imminently:_

…If that was meant to be reassuring, it wasn’t at all.

“Need,” she said out loud, her voice trembling. “Did you See what happened?”

_:He unshielded. To probe down there, I assume. Bloody idiot, but I reckon it was instinct:_

“I nearly did the same thing,” Katri admitted. Her mouth twisted. “Whatever happened, I don’t think it’s healthy for us to be here.”

“We need to know what happened to them.” Because they hadn’t gotten lost. K’Treva had been here. Now it…wasn’t.

 _:This is the place:_ Need agreed.

Jisa wasn’t feeling much, yet. Even the sick fear had fallen away, leaving a strange diamond clarity.

“Need,” she said. “Can you concert-Gate with me and get us out of here?” Shielding was tiring, and she wasn’t at all sure that she had the strength left to Gate as well. She certainly wouldn’t after what she wanted to do next.

 _:Not without dropping my link to the lad:_ Need admitted. _:I’m trying to stabilize him, but something is badly wrong:_

And she was the only Healer among them. Jisa was just relieved that she wasn’t balking at Brightstar’s sex.

“Katri?” Jisa said helplessly. “Can you do it, if I try to help?”

“I…think so. I’ll need an archway to build it on, and I won’t be good for much on the other side, but with Sa– with the new directed version, it should be in my range.”

 _Savil’s version,_ she had been about to say. Jisa’s heart spasmed in her chest.

Katri shivered. “I’d have to lower my shields. Don’t much like the idea.”

“We’ll backtrack,” Jisa said, with more confidence than she was feeling. “It wasn’t so bad before we got to the lip. Make an arch out of branches or something. Maybe Need can hold an outside shield on you.”

She took a deep breath. “Katri, listen. Brightstar is a Healing-Adept, and he’s bound to the land. He’s a lot more sensitive than either of us, _and_ he probed it from the top. We need to get him out of here, soon, but…I think once we’re ready, I should try unshielding just a bit, see if I can make sense of this. The worst that happens is I pass out too, and you have to drag us both down the hill, but I should be safer on two separate counts.”

Katri frowned. “If you pass out too, I’ll have no one to watch my back while I raise a goddamned Gate. Does this place look safe right now.”

“I haven’t seen anything alive in miles. Have you?” Jisa scowled. “Come on, let’s argue about it while we get Brightstar downrange.”

Jisa rose, bending and reaching under Brightstar’s armpit, awkwardly trying to grip his wrist in front of his chest and hold onto Need at the same time. Her back hurt already; he was much taller and heavier than either of them.

Panting, they dragged him a dozen yards down the slope, his heels leaving a double furrow in the snow. His head lolled, long white hair trailing on the ground. Jisa didn’t like his colour at all, but at least Need didn’t appear to be panicking.

Katri lowered her eyes. “I don’t like it, and I’d like to remind you that I do outrank you and you’re _not_ the one giving orders here, but…it does seem worth the risk. Just be careful, please.”

Jisa nodded. And took a deep breath, because at the prospect of actually _doing_ it, her courage threatened to fail her.

No one would blame her for backing out and putting her own safety first. No one would call her a coward. Get back home, hope Brightstar had picked up enough to recognize what had happened…and would remember it…

She shook herself a little, and glanced back up at the ridge. The image of the crater that had once been k’Treva felt permanently etched into her mind. Her second home. She had swum in its pools. Obliterated, now. Played with the _hertasi._ All of them dead. Learned from Moondance, and Healed him of his long-neglected emotional wounds–

Stop _._ Not now. She could grieve later.

Jisa closed her eyes, thinned her shields – not all the way, that would be stupid – and, very carefully, just a tiny fraction, she Reached.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that the update schedule for this book is going to be "whenever I am ahead on editing and low on self-control."

The sunset shone gold through the window. Stef was too tired to think straight, but that didn’t stop the waves of nervous energy that crashed over him every few minutes, driving him up to pace. He knew he was annoying everyone else, but he couldn’t help it.

For want of a better place, or anything more productive to do, they had ended up waiting out the afternoon in Arven’s sickroom. Karis wanted to be by her daughter, and Stef suspected that his lifebonded found some scant comfort in helping guard the girl. A stand-in for his other children, facing unnamed danger alone.

Shavri had come by about a candlemark into their vigil to consult with the other Healers on Arven’s treatment, and Stef had finally remembered his unspoken speculation during the meeting, forgotten when the new emergency arrived. After a silent conversation with Van via their usual method, he had nabbed Shavri and pulled her aside to relay his fears, both that Leareth might have blocked the dream from his end and that forcing the war into motion was a not-totally-implausible motive for an insider.

And, as Vanyel had pointed out, someone on site wouldn’t even have needed to sneak a mage in. Just an Animal Mindspeaker. Shavri had passed this on to Katha, who planned to quietly obtain the Healers’ records of everyone with the Gift.

With that dealt with, Shavri had examined Arven, and then had started talking about blood. Vanyel had instantly volunteered himself to be tested for whether he had the right kind of blood to lend Arven. Karis had offered as well, and Shavri had checked her first, but she didn’t have the right kind.

 _Seems she takes after her father_ , Shavri had said with a wry expression. _Unfortunately, Randi can’t spare any of his, so we’ll have to widen the net. Van, you’re right here, might as well start with you._

To the surprise of no one in the room, Vanyel had been a suitable candidate. Shavri had still gone on to check all the other Healers on duty, but the only two who were suitable were, respectively, pregnant and a twelve-year-old trainee. Both of which posed a higher risk than Vanyel’s not-quite-resolved backlash and minor injuries, she had decided, which was how Stef’s lifebonded had ended up hooked to an alarming glass apparatus, transferring what seemed like far too much of his own blood to his daughter. Shavri claimed it was less than a tenth of the blood in his body, an amount he could spare easily, and it had made all the difference to Arven; they had kept her asleep for the procedure itself, for fear that she wouldn’t be able to hold still, but afterward she had perked right up, hungrily inhaled a bowl of soup, and started pestering Andrel to let her get out of bed.

 _If you don’t settle down and behave_ , Vanyel had teased, _I’ll take that blood back._ Hearing him joke had eased Stef’s mind – even if his lightheartedness was purely a facade for his daughter’s benefit, it was a good sign that he could even pretend. 

Arven’s newfound energy had finally been redirected into playing with her new miniature lute. Seeing the light in Van’s eyes as he watched her was reassuring as well, though that had faded as the afternoon wore on and on and the tension rose.

Somewhere nearby, there was a muffled crash.

Stef, already on his feet, was the first to reach the door, but Vanyel wasn’t far behind. He crossed the threshold, and the shields, an instant later – and, with a startled cry of pain, tripped and fell hard, catching himself with his hands just in time to avoid faceplanting.

 _:Gate!:_ he sent, unnecessarily; Stef could see it with his own eyes, glowing in the doorway to the supply-room next to the center station. The crash had come from a cart of blankets that must have been left in the doorway itself, now several yards away on it side. _So that’s what happens to something in the way._ Stef had always wondered. At least it hadn’t been a person there.

Herald-Mage Katri, white-faced and trembling, swayed behind the threshold. “Help!” she shouted, her voice wavering as though heard through water.

Stef glanced helplessly back at Vanyel, curled in fetal position on the floor, then forward. _They need my help more_. He was the first to reach the threshold.

“Hurry!” Katri panted. She sagged to her knees in the snow. “Can’t hold…this thing…much longer!”

Past her, Stef saw Brightstar, apparently unconscious on the snow, and Jisa, half-clinging to his body.

Stef hesitated. If he crossed, and Katri lost the Gate, he was going to end up stranded in the Pelagirs; Van would do anything to reach him if that happened, but maybe not in time…

_Don’t be stupid._

He lay down flat on his stomach and reached just his head and one arm across, grabbing for Jisa’s hand. “Come on. Come _on_.”

Two more Healers had just caught up, and jumped right over him into the snow, reaching for Brightstar.

Jisa lifted her head, though, and with some more frantic shouts, Stef was able to coax her across on hands and knees. She was shivering hard, her face ashen.

Seconds later the Healers were across as well, hauling Brightstar, one of them urging Katri to follow.

The young Herald-Mage glanced helplessly back at the Gate, then clenched her eyes shut and gritted her teeth. It collapsed into itself and was gone.

No one moved.

Vanyel cautiously levered himself up on one elbow, rubbing his head, dazed. “Wasn’t ready for that,” he said weakly. Then his eyes focused on the scene in front of him, and he scrambled up, making it halfway upright before he gave up and sagged to his knees again.

It had all happened in under a minute. No time to feel, only to react. Now, though, the chill air that had come along with the new arrivals wasn’t the only reason that Stef couldn’t stop shaking.

 _Hold it together._ Van needed him to be calm, not falling apart. The other two – no, four Healers now – were focused on Brightstar, still unresponsive, one of them reaching to cover him with blankets from the pile of them spilled out across the floor.

Blankets. That was a good idea. Stef dove for one.

“Let me.” It was the Healing-trainee from before, who Shavri had decreed was too young to offer Arven her blood, now reaching to take the blanket from his hands and get Jisa covered. The room was suddenly full of green-robed bodies. _They’ve got this._ Stef backed off a little. Where was Vanyel…?

“Van?” Jisa’s plaintive voice. “Van, where…?”

He was there in seconds, shoving his way through with his elbows, heedless of anyone in the way. “Jisa, pet, I’m here.” He reached out, cupping his hands on either side of her face, smoothing down her hair. “You made it. You’re safe.”

Stef edged his way closer again, watching as Jisa’s hands lifted, trembling, and gripped her father’s forearms. There were tears welling in her eyes. “Van…”

“Shh, Jisa, you’re all right, everything’s going to be fine–”

“No.” The word seemed to fall and land like a weight between them. “No. Van – they – I – no…”

Stef reached them, and crouched next to his partner, trying to push love through the bond. That was all he could offer. Not reassurance.

“Breathe,” Vanyel urged her. “Jisa, center and ground. That’s it. Steady.”

Jisa gulped. “Van. K’Treva’s gone.”

_What?_

Vanyel went rigid, not even breathing. “What do you mean?” His voice clear as glass, and as brittle.

“Gone,” Jisa whispered again, half-singsong, her eyes unfocused. “Crater. Nothing.”

Van’s hands dug into her shoulders. “Jisa! Stay with me!”

“Herald Vanyel, she’s in shock. Let her be.” The trainee tried to peel his hands away.

“Not yet. This is important.” Stef wasn’t sure he had ever heard his partner’s voice sound so cold. “Jisa. Show me.”

She blinked at him, unfocused – and then moaned, her eyes rolling back, as Vanyel grasped her head between his hands. Forcing her into mind-rapport, Stef guessed.

“Herald Vanyel!” the trainee yelped. “Stop!”

“I’m sorry.” He lowered his hands, holding them up, palms out. “I’m done.”

“Can’t you see the state–”

“Obviously.” Vanyel’s expression was icy and remote, a marble statue. “I’ve seen what I had to. Jisa–” His voice faltered, and when he tried again, it was gentler. Almost human. “Jisa, I’m proud of you.”

The moment of softness passed. Van rose in a single, graceful motion, turned, and shoved his way through the knot of Healers around Brightstar. “Aber, what’s his condition?”

The grey-haired dean of Healers’ lifted his head, blinking. “We’re not sure what’s wrong. It’s more than backlash – something is causing his body to shut down, but we can’t _see_ it. You’re a mage. Could you…?”

Vanyel squatted down, resting his hand on his son’s forehead, his face going blank. Stef hovered behind him, unsure whether he wanted to shake Van until he coughed up an explanation of what he had seen in his daughter’s mind, or whether ‘run away screaming’ was the better choice.

K’Treva. Gone. _How?_ He wasn’t feeling anything but baffled denial, yet.

Vanyel spoke with the flatness of trance, without moving. “Get Shavri here.”

Aber caught the eye of one of the trainees, and the boy nodded and dashed away.

“What is it?” Aber said.

“His reserves are contaminated with foreign power. We need to cleanse it. I’ve seen Moondance do it, it’s possible that Shavri and I can do it in concert, but we need to start _now_.”

* * *

“Brightstar, deep breaths,” Shavri murmured in Tayledras, as soothingly as she could, struggling to renew the painblocking loop she had been holding with her Gift. _:Van, I think he’s done being sick:_ she added to him in Mindspeech. _:Let’s get him laying down again:_

Vanyel set aside the basin he had been holding, and helped her ease him back against the pillows. The youngster’s bondbird was perched on the headboard of the bed, anxiously ruffling her feathers. Gemma hadn’t been pleased about having an oversized hawk with wicked talons lurking in the House of Healing, but had let it slide.

 _He’ll feel like hell when he wakes up_ , Vanyel had predicted after they had cleared out the corrosive residue of alien mage-energies in his aura as thoroughly as they could, which wasn’t very. Moondance could have done a better job–

But Moondance wasn’t here. He never would be again.

Shavri wrestled her thoughts away from that path. Later.

 _:Van, I’m getting pretty worried:_ she sent.

_:I don’t think this is surprising. I was nearly as ill after Sunhame, and I’m not a Healing-Adept. He’s going to be a lot more sensitive. I remember when he was little, he got sick just from being in the general area where someone had used blood-magic a week earlier:_

His mindvoice was still detached. Too calm. _What’s wrong with you,_ she wanted to scream at him, but she was doing the exact same thing, he was just doing it better.

“Brightstar, would you like the snowpack for your head again?” she murmured to him, keeping her voice low.

A drowsy murmur of assent. It would have been very helpful if he could use Mindspeech right now, she thought ruefully, he mostly wasn’t capable of _talking_ , but all his Gift-channels were abraded and oozing.

They were in the shielded room; Brightstar clearly needed it most, and so Arven had been moved next door, her guard tripled at the same time. Shavri, barely thinking about it, had given that order herself rather than bother running it by Randi or Treven. At this point, she was starting to feel like there was no such thing as too much paranoia.

_What happened?_

They still didn’t know. Van had showed her an image from Jisa’s memories, fuzzy like an unfinished watercolour after being passed over a Mindspeech link twice. Nothing left but a crater. Nothing living within miles. The girl’s Othersenses had picked up more, the entire area glowing violently with something that wasn’t light. Vanyel found it just as alarming as she did, and had no idea what it meant.

Whatever it was, it had happened fast; Starwind and Moondance would have needed only seconds’ warning to contact Vanyel with the communication-spell. 

Brightstar moaned, and Shavri pushed more energy into the painblocking. He quieted, too exhausted even to cry, though she could sense the anguish wafting from him. He was tall enough that his ankles poked awkwardly past the end of the cot, but in that moment he seemed much younger than his eighteen years.

 _What now?_ Yawning horror. She hadn’t thought even Leareth would go this far.

…If it had been Leareth. But all of their speculations on other culprits seemed absurd, now, and Shavri was far too weary to actually think through that question. 

Brightstar’s eyes flickered open. He cleared his throat. “Father?” he croaked.

Vanyel squeezed his hand. “I’m right here, _ke’chara._ ”

The young Hawkbrother licked his lips. “Jisa…?”

“She’s fine,” Vanyel said quickly. “She’s resting right now.”

Shavri’s heart clenched. She longed to be with her daughter, but Van was right – Jisa was stable, currently drugged and sleeping. Not the one who needed her most.

 _:He seems a bit more with it:_ Vanyel reached to stroke his son’s hair. “Brightstar, you don’t have to speak of it now, but…do you remember what you Saw?”

His breath caught. “Oh. I thought you knew.”

“No. Can you tell us.”

“Broke containment. The Heartstone.”

Shavri didn’t know what he was talking about, but Vanyel must have; he went rigid, eyes widening. “How?” he breathed. “Sabotage?”

Brightstar only whimpered, leaning into Vanyel’s touch.

 _:Van:_ Shavri sent. _:What are you talking about?:_

His mindvoice was faint. _:Heartstones hold a spectacular quantity of power. Enough to sterilize everything within twenty miles if it’s released suddenly, which…appears to be what just happened. They’re self-stabilizing; it should be impossible to shatter one from the outside. But it’s possible to do if a skilled Adept-class mage has access to the physical focus. Introduce a flaw that propagates, and the whole thing comes down:_

_:Has that ever happened…?:_

A shiver. _:It’s been centuries since a Tayledras Heartstone broke containment, but according to lore it happened a few times in the early days, and since then the first thing every Adept learns before working with it is what NOT to do:_

Ice seemed to crystallize in her belly. _:So it’s possible this was an accident–:_ she started hopefully.

 _:I doubt it. None of their Adepts were stupid:_ A ragged breath. _:But to do it deliberately, someone would’ve had to get right into the Vale, and past the set-spell for the sanctum:_

_:That sounds hard to pull off:_

A distant nod. _:…And, actually, I’m not sure an outsider could do it at all. They would have to be keyed to the Heartstone, so that it trusted them to make modifications, or else trick it somehow:_

 _:Could it have been one of their people under compulsion?:_ Gods. She had known all of k’Treva’s Adepts by name. Picturing one of them, their will stolen by an enemy, creeping in by cover of night…

 _:I don’t know:_ Confusion, pain. _:I would have thought the Heartstone could tell the difference:_

The idea that one of Starwind and Moondance’s people might have _voluntarily_ turned to Leareth’s side made her feel like vomiting.

 _:Maybe not, though:_ Vanyel mused. _:It’s not a person, even if it is intelligent to some extent. And compulsions can be subtle, if someone is good enough with them:_

Someone like Leareth. He had to be thinking the same thing.

 _:It would have been nearly instantaneous:_ Vanyel added. _:No time to see it coming:_ He looked past her, jaw working. _:They…wouldn’t have felt anything:_

This did not, actually, make Shavri feel particularly better.

_:It must have happened sometime yesterday. If Brightstar had Gated in last night – gods, if any of us had – the residue would have been hot enough to kill them before he had time to react:_

She shivered.

“Father…?” Brightstar grasped blindly for Vanyel’s arm, sudden panic in his eyes. “Stay…please…”

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” Vanyel hesitated, then lowered the bedrail and sat down on the edge of the cot, wrapping his arms around the young man. They made a strange picture; Brightstar was so much taller, and yet still a frightened child in his father’s embrace.

She rested a hand on his shoulder, reinforcing the painblock and then probing his body with her Healing-Gift. His body was reacting as though he had been physically poisoned, instinctively trying to get rid of the contaminant. The ‘poison’ was elsewhere, though, and she couldn’t do anything more about it.

At least her daughter’s injuries had been limited to ordinary backlash. She wasn’t a Healing-Adept with earthsense, nor pact-bound to the land by the Star-Eyed Goddess – her mage-channels had taken the brunt of it, but she hadn’t ended up with toxic power-residue flooding her reserves.

Gods, she was tired. It had to be almost midnight, and her eyes ached with more than unshed tears. But she couldn’t leave Brightstar until he was stable; she was the only Healer in Valdemar who could help him right now.

More than that, she was a Wingsister to k’Treva; aside from Jisa, currently unconscious, and his sister all the way in Lineas-Baires, she and Van were all the family he had left.

Maybe they could coax him to sleep at some point, and she could ask for a mat on the floor and try to take a nap–

Her breath caught. _Oh, no._

Vanyel noticed. _:What?:_

 _:I completely forgot. There was a spell Brighstar was going to cast, with…:_ Even in Mindspeech, she couldn’t finish. _:To trace where the Changecreature came from, I’m not sure how:_

 _:Oh. I know the one:_ Something like shame in Vanyel’s mindvoice. _:I’m not sure I can cast it alone. I’ve only used it twice, and I wasn’t the one leading:_ He breathed in and out, and she felt determination rising. _:I have to try, though:_

 _:It has to be before tomorrow morning:_ Shavri sent.

Brightstar whined. “Hurts. Shavri…” 

Oops. “I’m so sorry, _ke’chara_.” Distracted, she had entirely dropped the painblocking loop, though not the energy-link, which was as automatic as breathing. “Let me fix that.” She poked around until the painblock fell into place. “Better?”

His sigh of relief was the only answer.

 _:Then I’ll do it tonight:_ Cold steel in Vanyel’s mindvoice. The grief was there, and a tide of anger, but distant.

Then he looked down at Brightstar, limp in his arms, and the steel melted just a little. _:Damn it, Shavri, I can’t. I promised:_

And, again, the hardening. _:But I suppose I don’t have a choice:_

 _:You won’t have to go far:_ That was the closest she could offer to reassurance. _:The thing’s remains are in the stillroom, it’s right next door:_

* * *

Jisa drifted slowly to awareness, her head gluey. _Where am I?_ The bed wasn’t right, this wasn’t her room…

There had been a Gate.

She remembered Van staring into her eyes, his face an expressionless mask, forcing her shields open despite the agony of her abused Mind-Gifts…

The gaping crater where k’Treva had once been.

Grief slammed into her like a tide. She struggled upright, fighting her way free of the blankets.

“Jisa?” Treven leaned in, reaching for her shoulder, his worried face swimming in her vision.

“Trev,” she croaked. Her head was reeling.

“Jisa, love, slow down. Easy.” He nudged her back against the pillows, then held a cup to her lips. “Drink.”

It was lukewarm willowbark tea, not water, but she gulped it despite the bitterness. Slowly, her vision cleared. Treven didn’t just look worried. His hair was messy, his Whites rumpled, and there were puffy bags under his eyes.

“You were here all night,” she accused hoarsely.

“Not here.” He hung his head, guilt flashing across his face. “I had to leave you. I’m sorry, there was a meeting after Van cast the spell you told me about–”

“Vanyel did it?” She had completely forgotten. Stupid of her. “Alone?”

“I think so. Katri was still out, and he said our other mages weren’t strong enough to be worth pulling in.”

Probably true. She and Brightstar were the only remaining – _oh, gods_. Her brother, limp in the snow. “Brightstar! Is he–”

“He had a rough night, but he’s stable now.” Treven squeezed her hand. “Physically, at least. Van’s with him.”

Jisa knuckled at her eyes. “Did _anyone_ sleep last night?”

A sad smile. “I got…three candlemarks? Your papa got a full night’s sleep, he wanted to sit up with you but Dara put her foot down about it. Oh, and we didn’t end up waking Melody. Shavri was this close to hauling her out of bed for Brightstar, but he calmed down a bit once Vanyel was with him, and she decided it could wait. We had this horribly awkward debrief right in his room with him crying in Van’s lap, and us all Mindspeaking except Dara was writing things back and forth on a slate with Karis.”

Jisa choked on a snort of laughter at the incongruous mental image. _Focus._ Questions kept tangling together in her mouth. “What did Van find?”

“Not as much as we hoped. He tracked it to a tributary west of Riverford, but it had been there awhile, he couldn’t go back far enough to who sent it. Katha sent two of her agents to investigate the area.”

“And k’Treva? Trev, what _happened_?” Jisa didn’t think she would ever forget how it had looked to her Othersenses, the image forever imprinted on her mind, but it didn’t actually tell her the how and why.

“Brightstar said the Heartstone lost containment.”

Jisa was hardly an expert on the subject, but even she knew that the only way to destabilize a Heartstone was from the inside. “Someone got into the Vale.”

“Van thinks it most likely had to be one of their Adepts, who was already keyed to the Heartstone. Maybe under a very skilled compulsion, but…maybe not.

It was too much, and she couldn’t make the pieces fit together. _How? Why?_ Panic rose, clouding her mind, driving out reason.

An echo of Alethra’s voice. _Let the storm pass through you._ People she loved were dead, ripped out of the world in a moment’s searing blaze, and it was so tempting to flinch away from that pain, denying it with helpless confusion or countering it with rage. But she didn’t have to. The grief was hers, and that meant it was smaller than her, and the choice of how to react was hers.

Hold it, and then carve out a space next to it. She had to be able to think about reality.

The first question, before how or why, was _who_.

Leareth could maybe pull something like this off. It seemed impossible that anyone else could.

The ‘how’ might not be worth asking – the evidence was long gone now, slagged to ash along with the rest, and it didn’t, in the end, really matter if it had been a traitor or a compulsion or Leareth literally showing up in person to somehow fool the Heartstone.

Why?

Jisa was confused, and it wasn’t just the reflexive denial. Deep in her core, she was surprised. And not just that Leareth had the motive – though that too felt baffling – but that he had the capability. Suborning a Tayledras Adept went far beyond what she had imagined possible.

And, even for him, not the work of a fortnight. It would have had to be laid in advance.

How long could a traitor or a compulsion go undetected? The Tayledras mages were in and out of each other’s heads constantly. Maybe it was possible to hide that level of betrayal even when sharing senses, or set a compulsion subtle enough that no other mage would remark on it, but it felt like a stretch.

 _It’s not his style._ Which was a stupid argument, especially because its sheer ruthlessness, exploiting a single flaw to bring everything down, ought to feel very like the man, and yet Jisa's mind kept insisting on it.

She could try to unpack her objections, at least. Leareth’s known plots had tended to minimize collateral damage. The fear-artifact spell he had used as Ma’ar was a good example, and even the horrible blood-magic dagger from Highjorune would, if not for certain other circumstances, have been a relatively low-casualty way for one country to conquer another, taking out the core leadership only, and with plausible deniability.

That felt key. Leareth was _sneaky_ ; most of his schemes were plausibly deniable. And, above all, he was efficient; he used resources that were already at hand, accomplishing his objectives as neatly as possible with minimal waste. Not this flashy display of intimidation, burning what would have been an extremely valuable inroad for any number of future plans, and, for what, to deny Valdemar a few mages?

There were the implications of Leareth having a spy among the Tayledras; that was something they needed to think through. Starwind and Moondance had been the only ones briefed on Valdemar’s situation with Leareth; surely neither of them could have been turned, and it wasn’t that long since Van and Savil had seen them, she had to believe one of _them_ would have noticed a compulsion…

It was too many threads to hold onto, and she was still groggy.

“Jisa?” Treven said curiously. “You’ve got that thinking look. What are you–”

“I haven’t come up with anything brilliant, sorry.” Only confused, circular rambling. “Trev, it doesn’t make sense.” It felt like she was slamming her fists against a smooth wall, finding no purchase, and behind her the pit of grief still lurked, un-dealt with.

“It’s all right to cry.” Treven tucked a wisp of hair back from her face. “They were good people. I’m so sorry.”

So far she had only really thought about Starwind and Moondance, but it wasn’t just them. Snowlight was dead too. All her friends among the scouts.

The _hertasi_.

For some reason, when nothing else had, that was what brought the tears to the surface. What kind of a monster would blot out an entire Vale’s worth of _hertasi_ , kind gentle people that lived only to help others, that had never harmed a fly?

Surely Leareth saw that they were lights in the world.

 _I look at the stars,_ Leareth had said to Van. _I remember that there are so many lights in the world, who are worth saving, and we cannot save all of them – from the very beginning, it was too late to save all of them – but we can still save some._

Had those words of comfort been an elaborate ruse? A lie from the beginning? Because Jisa couldn’t conceive of how Leareth could _mean_ that, and then go on and do _this_.

* * *

“How does that feel now?” Melody said.

Brightstar moistened his cracked lips. “Strange,” he whispered.

Vanyel sympathized. He squeezed the young man’s hand reassuringly.

Behind them, Kalari chirruped. The large red-tailed hawk had been restless the entire time Melody was working, clearly disturbed by the strange person meddling in the mind of her bonded, and Vanyel had been a little worried that he would have to fling up a shield if the raptor dived at her.

“I imagine so,” Melody said mildly. Her eyes darted to the window, showing another cloudy grey dawn. “This is just temporary, to give you a break while you’re recovering physically. In the longer run, I’m not going to block you from grieving for them. Like I said, it’s not something wrong with you that you’re hurting. It doesn’t make you weak.”

Brightstar nodded, struggling to stay focused on her through drooping eyelids.

“You can sleep,” she assured him. “You’re safe here. My work will take a lot out of you. Get some rest, all right?” _:I don’t know how he’s still awake:_ she sent to Vanyel along a private link. _:Shavri says he didn’t sleep at all last night:_

Vanyel winced. _:It’s my fault. I promised him I would stay, and then I had other commitments:_ Necessary or not, he still felt awful about it, remembering Brightstar’s hysterical cries as he tried to extract himself from the room. _I hope he won’t be too embarrassed about it later._ Like most youngsters his age, when he had his wits about him he was very touchy about his dignity.

 _:Stop it:_ Melody’s mindvoice was tart. _:Van, none of this was your fault:_ She softened. _:I’m sorry. Truly:_

And she was angry, not just on his behalf. It didn’t show at all in her face or posture, and even her Mindspeech leaked little, but he hardly even needed that confirmation.

 _:You cared about them:_ he said.

 _:I did:_ Simply, matter-of-fact. _:Starwind and Moondance were good people. And, damn it, it wasn’t just them, was it. How many people lived in k’Treva?:_

_:About two hundred humans. Maybe another hundred hertasi:_

Three hundred lights in the world, snuffed out in an instant. Again, Vanyel found himself remembering the old priest’s prophecy. _Darkness lies ahead. You will lose all hope, again and again._

The grief was distant, as though behind a pane of glass. Vaguely reminiscent of the block Melody had used once, but he hadn’t asked her to do anything; even the day before, when they spoke about Savil, she had done only a few minor redirects, helping him break out of the loops of blaming himself.

This detached numbness was a product of his mind alone, and had been with him ever since he saw the glimpse of k’Treva’s remains in Jisa’s mind. Focus on the mission. Fold the rest away, because he couldn’t afford for it to be personal, even though it was. There would be time to grieve later. Or maybe there wouldn’t, maybe he had run out of later, but either way, there wasn’t time now.

 _Remember that which you love,_ the Son of the Sun had said, _and your path will be clear._ A comforting lie, it had never been less clear – but maybe it wasn’t about the specifics. Just the strength to go on at all. For the dead he had loved, he could find the courage to follow his path through until the end. Wherever it led. No matter what it cost him. _I won’t walk away._

 _:Van:_ Melody sent. _:Can we talk?:_ He couldn’t quite name the emotion that leaked through.

_:What? Here?:_

_:It’ll have to do:_

Brightstar had given in to the inevitable and closed his eyes. He looked so achingly vulnerable, eyelids red and swollen from crying, tangled silver-white hair splayed across the pillow; for a moment, Vanyel could almost see the frightened toddler curled up inside him. _I remember when you were afraid of the dark._

 _:Van, I’m worried about you:_ Melody sent.

 _:What? I’m managing:_ Better than he had expected. Everything was falling apart around him, but there was a sort of clarity in it.

 _We can never go back_ , Starwind had said once. _Only forward._ They had reached the signpost that marked the final stretch of a long, long road. Vanyel didn’t know what to do, yet, but he no longer had to worry about saving anything for a finish line that might not arrive for a year or ten.

He had always been better at holding it together when someone was trying to kill him.

 _:You’re compartmentalizing:_ Melody sent. _:Which you’re damned good at, but…it has a price. Van, you’re in survival mode right now – you’ve narrowed the whole world down to the next five minutes, reacting to each obstacle as it comes. The correct attitude for a battlefield, but this isn’t one, yet. And tunnel-vision is a distortion:_

Vanyel frowned, absently stroking Brightstar’s hair.

 _:It’s not the end. Not yet:_ Melody’s hands moved like small birds, fluttering to the neck of her robes. _:There are a lot of critical decisions still to make. Implications to think through. This is exactly the time when we can’t afford to fall into reacting on instinct:_

He looked away. _:Damn it, Melody, what do you want me to do?:_

 _:Take a step back. Open yourself enough that you can muster some genuine curiosity. I know you’re trying to ask the right questions, but I’m not sure you can right now:_ Even turned away, he felt her eyes on him, sympathetic. _:You need to deal with your pain and grief, not bottle it up, because it’s not giving you space to think:_

He turned back to her, almost angry. _:Melody, I can’t. If I let myself – if I look at it…:_ If he stopped moving now, he might never start again.

 _:You’re angry:_ There was no judgement at all in her mindvoice. _:That’s what’s fuelling you right now. Someone murdered people you loved, and you want them dead:_

Heat rose in his throat. _:I want to eliminate the threat:_ he sent tightly. _:This isn’t about me. It’s about Valdemar:_ Was he angry? The cold barrier in his mind didn’t feel like anger. 

_:You’ve already chosen your bottom line:_ Melody sent sharply. _:For Valdemar, but for Savil and Starwind and Moondance too. Destroy the enemy – and you’re not actually letting yourself look at the fact that the enemy is probably Leareth:_

 _:What do you mean?:_ He could barely breathe through the itchy pressure in his chest. _:Of course I’m–:_

 _:You’re not. You have to believe that you can avenge them, so you’re ignoring that Leareth is someone you plausibly can’t beat. And you’re not letting yourself think of him as a person, right now:_ She blinked, owlish. _:You respect the man – you care about him, even. I know that. Honestly, with the glimpses I’ve seen of him through you, so do I. And you’re not even trying to reconcile what it means that he did this:_

Her head tilted to one side. _:If he did:_

For a moment, Vanyel wanted to _hit_ her. He forced himself to close his eyes, center and ground.

Yesterday, Stef’s alternate theory for Savil’s murder had seemed, if not plausible, at least remotely possible. Learning about k’Treva had driven that tiny pocket of doubt from his mind, but…was that right?

Just as Valdemar had other enemies, so did the Tayledras. Though mostly not the _same_ enemies, and two attacks from different sources landing on the same day was the kind of ‘coincidence’ that only came with divine intervention. Maybe, conceivably, a northern bandit group, driven by Valdemar’s expansion into the marginal territory that pressed up against the Pelagirs, might have felt sufficiently inconvenienced by _both_ groups to make an attempt… K’Treva wasn’t anywhere near the Border, but it was the closest Vale to the northwest corner of Valdemar, and the alliance wasn’t publicized but nor was it a state secret.

Vanyel couldn’t imagine any bandit group being _competent_ enough to manage it, though, even if they had the motive. Maybe they had been supplied and trained by Leareth once, for some other plot decades ago, and this was yet another case of horrific unintended consequences – but that was stretching.

 _:I don’t know:_ he sent. _:Melody, every other story I can conceive of is pretty forced:_

Unruffled, Melody folded her hands across her knees. _:But you didn’t conceive of any until now, did you? That’s what I mean. We’ve talked about this. Being in pain makes it hard to muster genuine curiosity. And I don’t know about you, but I’m goddamned confused. I mean, before today, what would you have called the likelihood that Leareth had compromised one of the Tayledras?:_

It wouldn’t have occurred to him to ask the question. _:Negligible:_ he admitted. _:But clearly I was missing–:_

 _:Right:_ she interrupted. _:If this is surprising, it’s because the map of the world in your head is incomplete. Confusion is in our minds, not in reality:_ A thin smile. _:That’s one of the most useful concepts I’ve gotten via your Leareth, you know. I use it all the time with my patients now:_

Vanyel glowered at her. _:He’s not my Leareth:_

 _:Sorry. I know:_ She lifted both hands to her temples. _:Confusion is precious, Van. It’s how we notice that we’re forgetting to ask an important question. You’re the one who taught me that. If this was Leareth’s work – and I don’t see another story yet either – it’s a lot of new information, and it doesn’t fit with the picture we had before:_

He tugged his eyes away. _:No. It doesn’t:_ Stare that unsteadiness in the face. Maybe he was still too close to see it clearly. _:Melody, looking from the outside, maybe my entire approach was flawed:_ That was basically what Tran had accused him of, years ago, and he had always known it might be true. _:I’ve tried so hard to find more information, but if my entire process, my approach for reasoning, was broken–:_ if it had been compromised from the very beginning, because he had learned it from Leareth, _:then no amount of knowledge would fix that:_ A telescope couldn’t turn on itself and see the flaw in its own lens.

_:Fine. Maybe your assessment of Leareth’s character is built on smoke. There are still facts to reconcile. Say that we take this and conclude that Leareth did have an agent in k’Treva. What does that tell you?:_

Vanyel squeezed his eyes shut against the wash of pain. _Center and ground._ Focus _._ What did it mean…?

 _:That he’s already won:_ he sent, harshly. _:He’s even better than I knew, and he was never on our side after all:_ Gods, it hurt to admit those words. _:We always knew he might be straight-up lying about his motives:_ He was reminding himself as much as her.

 _:Follow that thread to its conclusion:_ Melody prodded. _:I notice I’m confused. Why didn’t he flatten us five years ago?:_

He lifted his head, meeting her eyes. Blinking away the betraying tears. _:His army wasn’t ready:_ That was the only explanation. _:He was stalling:_

 _:Stalling by telling you his entire goddamned plan?:_ Melody’s eyebrows lifted. _:By teaching you to be stronger? That’s an odd choice of strategy from someone who was lying about his motives this entire time. It makes vastly more sense coming from someone who really and truly wants to save the world:_

 _:Maybe he thinks he does. People can do awful things in the name of ideology:_ Lancir had been the one to name it, so long ago, and like a fool, he hadn’t listened.

 _:Then the question is, why did he choose now, this precise week, to so thoroughly burn what might still have paid out as a valuable alliance? He’s a patient man. Even if he wanted to weaken us as a precaution, why didn’t he pick a plausibly deniable option?:_ Melody tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. _:I would have thought he could extract more leverage by leaving his agent in k’Treva. If he was going to do something like this at all, which is already surprising, I’d expect it to be for shock-and-awe, knocking us off balance right before his army rolls over us – but there’s no sign of his army:_

Maybe they were about to appear. Vanyel wasn’t sure what to do about that, though; they were already taking every precaution, as fast as possible.

Melody lifted her hands, and let them fall, pointlessly. _:I don’t know. Just, I told Randi the same thing. We don’t, actually, know what’s going on here, and we mustn’t pretend we do:_ Her eyes narrowed. _:So. I need you to carve out some space to grieve for the people you lost. And be angry. Let yourself feel it, otherwise it’s going to use you:_ She reached out and patted his shoulder. _:Also, please get some goddamned sleep:_

Vanyel was exhausted, his head buzzing with it as well as with Melody’s words, but his eyes felt glued open. _:I’m not sleepy:_

_:I don’t care. You’re running on sheer nerves, which is an excellent way to make stupid decisions:_

He bowed his head, acknowledging her point. _:All right. I’ll try:_ Stef at least had gotten a good night’s rest; maybe he could ask his lifebonded to help him fall asleep before he got dragged away to attend Randi.

So many competing responsibilities, cords pulling him in a dozen direction, and there was only one of him. He felt stretched taut, no room to maneuver, and if one of those threads of duty snapped, he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Duty, family – _oh, gods._

 _:What?:_ Melody sent.

 _:Featherfire:_ Vanyel had completely forgotten about his daughter. _:She doesn’t know:_ He had already slipped his hand free of Brightstar’s without waking him, and was halfway to his feet. Tashir didn’t have any mages who knew the communication-spell. _:I need to Gate to Highjorune right now:_

 _:That:_ Melody sent sharply _:is almost certainly unnecessary. They’re on the Mindspeech relay:_

 _:I don’t want her hearing it from a stranger:_ She had just lost her mother, along with nearly everyone she had ever known. He was the only family he had left.

 _:You’re sure none of the others can transport her here?:_ Melody pushed. _:Van, you’re exhausted and stressed. You’re going to hurt yourself:_

True, it was impossible to imagine relaxing right now, which meant that even if he used the permanent Gate-terminus and its energy source, he would inevitably damage his channels and, if he was unlucky, knock himself out with backlash for the rest of the day.

None of the other mages had been to Highjorune, though.

He sighed. _:I’ll get Stef’s help:_ Painblocking would have to do.

* * *

_I don’t know what to do._

Randi was tired in a way that had nothing to do with how much he had slept – though his sleep had been troubled, too, as he lay alone in their bed, missing Shavri and worrying.

He had just ordered a yawning Treven off to bed after obtaining a summary of the night’s events, and Shavri was sleeping as well after sitting all damned night with Brightstar. Half of his core Heralds, in fact, had stayed up dealing with the emergency and were exhausted now. Too many things at once, damn it, this new disaster slamming into the time-limit on casting the investigative spell.

And now Van, too, was in bed after Gating his daughter over from Highjorune without even asking permission. Randi hadn’t spoken to Van since Savil’s death, and he badly wanted to. The longer he thought about it, the more confused he was, and Vanyel might not have answers either but he understood Leareth better than any of them.

Stef was there, at least, playing quietly in the corner. He seemed tired too, and Randi had considered sending him off to take a nap, but he couldn’t handle this meeting without painblocking.

Somehow, it was only the third day.

“Dara,” he said dully. “Update.” He couldn’t find it in him to add the usual ‘please.’

“Um, let me see.” The King’s Own rubbed her eyes. “I’ve got Herald Siri and an escort ready to go south, and a draft letter for Queen Lythiaren, just need your seal on it. The problem is, the Comb is next to impassible at this time of year, even by Companion, and the local mountain-folk won’t contract as guides once the snows start. I’d be asking our people to risk their lives, _and_ it would take a month to reach Petras.”

Randi winced. Not an option.

…Come to think of it, why had Leareth chosen this time? A winter war had to cost him even more, up in the far north. Maybe he had enough mages to compensate, and thought it would harm his enemy more than his own side.

And, of course, he had a solution for mountain passes being difficult in winter. Assuming he hadn’t abandoned that plan long ago, as soon as he knew Vanyel knew, and decided to Gate his entire army directly south and land on top of them. Keiran had been the one to bring that up; not for the first time, but more seriously now. Moving an entire army by Gate would usually be intractable, but maybe it was barely an inconvenience, for someone powerful enough to take out a Tayledras Vale.

“What’s your solution?” he pressed.

“I’ve only got one idea, and it’s going to mean delaying a few days, but it should still be a lot faster.”

“Go on.”

Dara’s gaze was level. Despite her youthful, freckled face, right now she seemed so much older than twenty. “We’ve got to make contact with White Winds as well. Brightstar is in a bad way, but Jisa’s recovering much faster. We have her Gate there as soon as the Healers clear her, and the other parties can ride along. We’ll send Siri to ride back north from there to Petras – Rethwellan’s climate is a lot milder than ours outside the mountain regions, it shouldn’t be too bad – and send a party south to Jkatha as well, to rendezvous with that innkeeper and get us some goddamned mercenaries. Though, unfortunately, I’m not sure how they’re to get _back_ , unless we make Jisa wait at White Winds.”

“No,” Randi said immediately. There were valid strategic reasons, he thought – they needed the option of getting the White Winds mages in days rather than weeks – but he couldn’t lie to himself about his true reason. _I don’t want my daughter away that long._

“My only other thought is to hope that either Lythiaren or one of the mercenary bands has a mage with a Gate-terminus on our side of the Comb,” Dara offered. “Trouble is, our people won’t know that until they arrive, and we’re going to be out of communication. Mindspeech doesn’t really work over the mountains.”

And they couldn’t spare any of their remaining Adept mages, who would be able to use the communication-spell. Except… Something was tickling at his memory… “What about Need? She’s an Adept.” Which he kept forgetting – he hadn’t even thought of sending the sword with Jisa until she volunteered herself. “Can we send someone who could raise a concert Gate with her? Any of our Herald-Mages could do it, whether or not they’re strong enough to manage the distance alone.”

Dara flushed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Actually, now that we’re thinking of artifacts, another option is to send half of the teleson. That doesn’t even need a mage to operate.”

“It’s not secure either,” Randi pointed out.

“Then we agree on a pre-set code. Since we can coordinate in advance, we just need Katha to create a one time use code-sheet for both of them.”

“Right.” They had talked about that before. “That limits how many messages we can send, though, right?”

“I mean, yes, but not in the way you think – it mainly limits how _long_ the messages can be, they can’t be longer than the code-sheet is.” 

“Mmm.” Randi decided against bothering to try to understand that, right now.

“Oh, and we should have Sandra set the power on it so it’s just enough for one of our people at the southern base of the Comb to reach our Mindspeech relay in Horn. Minimizes the chance that Leareth can detect it from all the way up north. If he’s got spies in Horn, he might still know we were sending messages at all, but if they stick to the one-time random code, he shouldn’t be able to interpret them unless the spies somehow eavesdropped and got a copy of the code-sheet, and we can take the usual precautions against that.”

“All right.”

Dara paused, absently tapping her chin, deep in thought. “Send Need with whoever goes to Jkatha,” she suggested finally. “That leaves each party with a way to communicate and arrange a way home independently. There’s a good chance that hiring mercenaries will go faster than negotiating to borrow Lythiaren’s army, so I’d rather they didn’t have to wait around either, or travel overland to meet up.”

Randi closed his eyes, trying to think. “Needs some details ironed out, but if we have to delay anyway while Jisa recovers, that gives you time to discuss.” He didn’t much like the idea of giving up any more of their mages, especially not when Katri was out recovering from her emergency Gate. The Web was already under-manned. Kilchas and Sandra could keep an eye on alarms, but neither of them could take the strain of distance casting anymore.

“I’ll do that,” Dara said.

“Thank you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Focus_. What else… “Iftel?”

Dara ducked her head. “I’ve got a draft letter, but I don’t want to just send a courier. Only the Senior Circle knows about our agreement, and I’m not sure the Barrier will let any Herald but me in. I think it should either be me who goes, or Karis.”

“I can’t spare either of you.” Randi grimaced. “They let merchants in. I think Katha has some agents…”

“I did think of that, but I’d worry about insulting them. Not to mention the risk that one of the less vetted agents might sell information to Leareth for enough gold. Randi, this is _important_ , and we have a much better chance of getting their help if we send someone with real authority. I know sending Karis will delay getting her back to Sunhame and organizing her own army to move in and support us, but fortunately Sunhame is on the permanent Gate network – any of our mages can use the terminus, and we’ve already passed a message to her councillors.”

Randi had managed to completely forget that Karse had its own army to offer them. _I must really be tired._ “Then Karis, if she’s willing to leave Arven. Otherwise, I suppose I’ll have to give you up for a few days.”

“I’d rather not go either,” Dara admitted. “Handing off everything sounds exhausting. Should I speak to Karis?”

Randi ought to do it himself, but he wasn’t sure he could summon the energy, or the courage. “Please.”

The young woman scribbled on her slate, then set it down on her lap and leaned over on her elbows, chin in her hands. “That’s all of our official allies, but I wanted to run something else by you.”

“Go ahead.” He was too weary to be curious.

“The Shin’a’in. We have contacts there who know about Leareth.” Dara bit back a yawn. “I don’t know how to get a message to them, because I think they would only speak to me or Van, and obviously neither of us can go to the Dhorisha Plains right now. It’s not even in range to Gate.” She sat up and pulled one knee to her chest, eyes earnest. “Still, if I can think of a way to alert them, do I have your permission? I can’t promise they’ll do anything, but they might send some kind of aid.”

Randi really ought to give the matter more thought, but his brain felt gummed together. He trusted her; he had to lean on that, now. “Yes, of course. Anything else?”

The yawn broke free this time. Dara shook her head, apologetic. “You’re better off asking Keiran about troop movements, or Marius about our Farsight checks.”

Gods. He hadn’t even considered… “Has Van checked the pass again?”

“…I don’t think so. You know it’s long-range for him, and, well, he hasn’t exactly been in top form.”

“Find a way to make it happen, please.” Another thread he had dropped, and Randi kept having the sense that he was missing something else, but he was too foggy to catch onto it.

Dara made another note. “Oh, and I forgot, Katha wanted me to pass on that she’s dispatched agents to check on everything we talked about. She’s drawn up a list of suspects in Haven, but wants your input before she questions any of them. Might be pointless – after last night, it doesn’t seem possible this was an internal plot, unless we posit that the attack on Arven was unrelated to k’Treva.” 

Which was possible, but very unconvincing. Randi closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He really, really didn’t have the energy to try to out-scheme Leareth right now.

“She should go ahead,” he said finally. “At the very least, even if Leareth originated both plans, it’s possible his cat’s-paw for the attack here was, say, a disgruntled local noble. They wouldn’t have to know they were spying for him – they might genuinely believe they were acting to protect Valdemar.”

A horrifying thought, but well within the man’s repertoire, and finding the traitor now might be locking the stable door long after the horse was gone but at least they could minimize the risk of losing anything else.

“I’ll tell her,” Dara said. She scratched her neck, leaving a chalk-dust mark. “Katha pointed out it’s possible he worked through a northern gang for both attacks, so we might still be able to find leads. If we find a bandit gang and they admit to taking orders from Leareth, that’s pretty much confirmation.”

“I’d be surprised if he were that sloppy, but worth following up on, I suppose.”

It was strange, Randi thought, how he was actually _less_ angry now that the casualties numbered in the hundreds. Maybe it was a sign of just how insane people were, that it was easier to step back from it, to think about the strategic implications rather than his own frantic desire for revenge.

Well, and Melody had called him out on that. _Your emotions are using you_ , she had said, _and you know it, but you’re letting it happen._ And she had coaxed him to talk through all of it, even the ugly, dark thoughts he would rather have pretended weren’t there, and showed no judgement. That alone had helped more than he cared to admit, and he could reason through it with something that more resembled detachment, now.

Damn it, though, at least the cold rage had given him a semblance of energy and clearheadedness.

“Randi.” Dara’s voice was plaintive. “I, just – I wish I understood why.”

He stared stupidly at her.

“What it accomplished for him to murder an entire Vale.” Her eyes were wet. “Innocent children. How can a man look at the stars and see every life as a light in the world, and then do _this_?”

 _I don’t think there’s any point in asking what drives a madman,_ Tran had said earlier. Randi was tempted to agree, but that was the easy way out.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Almost makes me wonder if it was a mistake, blowing up the place. Not literally an accident, but some contingency-plan that he had never meant to implement, going awry. We know he’s slipped before.”

It was a thin story. Randi could feel his mind straining for it, for any explanation that didn’t involve Leareth being a monster after all. It should always have been the default assumption, and yet, he really had hoped that Vanyel was right.

_I don’t see any way that we win this._

Melody had dragged that fear out of him as well, bearing witness as he stared that horror in the face and wept. He had to be able to look at it. And, at the same time, they hadn’t lost yet. It felt hollow, pointless, but it still made sense to call on every fallback and contingency-plan, summon every ally, if there was even the slightest chance that they could still stop this nightmare in time.

…And, as Melody had reminded him, the alternative explanations might feel thin and forced at this point, but they weren’t yet ruled out.

_As long as we’re alive, there’s hope._


	6. Chapter Six

“Brightstar, please,” Andrel said patiently, holding the cup of broth to her brother’s lips. “Just a sip.”

It was sunset. Jisa had received her orders: to Gate to White Winds as soon as she was able. Andrel had reluctantly released her from Healers’ but wouldn’t consider clearing her to Gate for at least two days. He was right, she wasn’t up for it yet, but the delay still made her itch.

She had gone to see Brightstar instead, and found to her immense frustration that it was impossible to hold a conversation with him. Melody had laid some kind of block, which Jisa couldn’t examine herself because her Gifts still hurt too much, but his voice and expression were completely flat and his attention span was about three seconds.

Jisa needed his advice. He was the only one she could talk to about searching the Void, which had suddenly become a lot more urgent, or about her other questions.

She had managed to sneak a half-cup of chava without the Healers noticing, and her mind was racing ahead, tracing threads, possibilities–

And she had no one to talk to. She felt horribly left out. Treven had left a few minutes after she woke, and hadn’t returned; unable to Mindtouch him, she had no idea if he was running meetings or sleeping or something else entirely. She hadn’t seen Van at all; apparently he had gone straight from Brightstar’s bedside to Gating to Lineas. And hopefully to his bed, afterward.

Her half-sister had finally stumbled into Brightstar’s sickroom sometime in the early afternoon, red-eyed and silent, and Jisa had talked with her a little, but Featherfire was in no way ready to help her muse about Leareth; she was still caught up in the shock of losing her family and home, and focused on comforting Brightstar. Who, Jisa had to admit, needed her far more.

Brightstar’s eyes were starting to drift shut. Andrel finally gave up, setting aside the half-full mug of broth and wiping her brother’s chin with a cloth. “You can sleep now.”

_What are we going to do?_

She had to talk to someone, to lay out her thoughts, but everyone she could think of was busy holding the kingdom together.

…Well, no, there was one person she could always turn to for advice.

She sat next to Brightstar, fidgeting, until Andy had tucked him in and left, and held his hand until he was deeply asleep. Then she stood. Each step forward took noticeable effort, but she waved to Gemma at the center station, and headed purposefully down the hall.

The door to Mindhealers’ was unlocked. Jeren was inside, writing notes. “Oh. Heya, Jisa. If you’re looking for Melody, she’s with a patient.”

Jisa leaned on the desk, her legs heavy. “I thought she canceled all her regulars.”

“I know, it’s _awful_ , I was here so late last night and no one got a lunch break today.” Jeren scratched his jaw. “She’s been seeing all the Heralds. Because of…” He trailed off. “Jisa, I’m sorry. You, Savil…?”

That was the least of it. Jisa blinked. “I’m fine. I mean, I’m sad, obviously, but...it’s fine. Thank you.” She knuckled at her eyes. “I’ll wait. When–” Belatedly, she remembered the existence of the schedule on the wall, and turned to squint at it.

“She’s seeing Herald-Mage Vanyel,” Jeren volunteered helpfully. He swung his feet up onto the desk. “He’s related to Savil, you know.”

 _Thank you for that juicy gossip that I’ve known my entire life_ , Jisa thought snidely, but kept it in her head. That was awfully convenient. Two of the people she desperately wanted to talk to, neatly lined up for her.

The rooms were all shielded against Thoughtsensing, but Jisa was keyed to the wards. She Reached; the range was short, it only hurt a little. _:Melody?:_

 _:When my door is closed, it means I’m busy:_ Her teacher started to drop the link, then paused. _:Although, just this once, your presence would be appreciated. Come on in:_

That wasn’t at all the answer she had expected; she had just wanted to check how long she had to wait, and whether there was time to go get supper first; but she wasn’t going to complain.

With her hand on the doorknob, Jisa paused to answer Jeren’s curious look with a smile. “I’m being requested.” Jeren shrugged, with an expression that said ‘better you than me’, and went back to his notes.

Melody gestured with her chin at the sideboard, which held a covered teapot. Van was huddled in one of the armchairs with his head in his hands, but he mumbled out a greeting.

Feeling very out of place, Jisa went to pour herself a cup of tea, for lack of anything better to do with her hands, and then stood awkwardly. “Melody, um, I’m still meant to be resting my Gifts, so I hope that’s not why you wanted me.” Melody did sometimes pull her in to borrow her strong Projective Empathy, but that seemed unlikely here.

“No, no.” Melody waved her hand. “We’re just discussing something you might have input on. Go on, sit down.”

She eased herself into the extra armchair next to Vanyel, and was about to ask what the conversation was – though she had a good guess – when he uncurled and reached for her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said tonelessly. “I meant to come by this morning, but Brightstar…”

“It’s fine.” She laid her hand over his. “I understand. I saw him just now.” Speaking of. “Melody, that was a stupidly thorough block you put on him, was it really ne–”

“Yes,” Melody and Vanyel said at the same time.

“You didn’t see him last night,” Vanyel said quietly. “He was inconsolable.”

“It’s not just that he lost his parents and his home,” Melody said. “That would be devastating enough, but…that was his land, that his ancestors swore to their Goddess to protect and heal. It was his _mission_ , his life purpose, to do that. And he’s a Healing-Adept. He’s directly bound to the land; in a sense, harm to it is harm to him, and the damage is emotional as well as magical.”

Jisa hadn’t thought about it from that perspective at all. She had never known quite how to feel about Brightstar’s relationship with the Star-Eyed Goddess. He was one of Her children, carrying out a millennia-old pact, and Melody was right about how much that had mattered to him. _It was his sacred trust._ He might have broken with tradition enough to leave, but only because he believed that his Goddess was temporarily calling him to a different duty, to help his father win against Leareth.

Melody dragged a hand over her face, weariness in every line of her. “He’ll have to find a way to live with it, but that’s his path to walk, I can’t do it for him. All I can do right now is buy him a few days, put off the reckoning so he can at least get some sleep and face it when he’s stronger physically.”

“Featherfire took it a lot more calmly,” Vanyel said, thoughtful.

“I spoke with her earlier today.” Melody’s hands moved to smooth her robes over her knees. “She’s in a lot of pain, but she has another home. She loves that young man, and she had a plan for her life that isn’t completely shattered. And her brother is alive, and needs her. Hopefully she can be some kind of anchor for him.” Her eyes flashed to Jisa. “You too. You’re family.”

She nodded. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“…Actually, no. That was a tangent, though I’m glad you have context now.” Melody shifted, crossing her legs. “We were discussing Leareth.”

Vanyel’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“Oh.” Jisa took a slow breath, reorienting. “You mean, his motives?”

“And what it tells us more broadly. We’ve got our observations, but we still need to sort out what it means. Fit it into our picture.” He made a face. “Melody, I’m sorry, this really isn’t your job–”

“I don’t mind.” Melody’s lips twitched into a smile. “It’s causing you distress, you need someone to talk it through with, and I have context. Seems reasonable.”

Van nodded, apparently reassured. “Jisa, I have a list, but I’d like to hear your unbiased thoughts first. Starting with, can you think of any possible explanation for the two events, other than Leareth having done it? Plausible or not, just throw it out there.”

Savil, and k’Treva. Two plots, and either of them alone spoke of more resources and skill than she imagined anyone but Leareth could have – but it wasn’t impossible.

“You’ve probably thought of this,” she said, “but it could’ve either been bandits up north who don’t like us _or_ Hawkbrothers,” the Tayledras had plenty of enemies, “and are scarily competent.” That was the unlikely half. “Or…an insider, some political plot, though I can’t think what sort of agenda could benefit both from pushing us into war _and_ wrecking our alliance with the Tayledras, unless they just hate Randi for some reason and don’t care if the rest of the Kingdom burns.” There were people like that, but Jisa wouldn’t have thought any of them could actually carry out something complicated.

“Both of those are more plausible for the attack in Haven,” she admitted. “Getting at k’Treva was…well, it’s just barely believable that _Leareth_ could do it. Until yesterday, if you’d asked me I’d have said he couldn’t.” A stumble in her thoughts; it didn’t make sense even now. “Van, could it have been an accident? If they were trying to move the Vale, and messed it up…”

“It’s happened.” His voice had gone cold and remote. “Not in the last thousand years, though, and Moondance isn’t careless.”

The same tale as the Changecreature, Jisa thought. It could conceivably have been happenstance, but the odds were so drastically against it, and even more against that kind of horrific bad luck striking twice in the same day. Sort of like the numbers-game Van had taught her once – it was _possible_ for twenty tosses of a fair coin to land on all heads, no law of nature forbade it, but it was vanishingly unlikely, one in a million odds.

Jisa still wasn’t sure if she was thinking about it the right way, but even if she had been off a hundredfold in her rough figuring, the Changecreature being an accident was still a thousand-to-one odds, and the Heartstone blowing up was just as unlikely – and two accidents were independent of each other, like coin-flips, so that brought her back to one in a million, and probably much lower.

It was like she had said to Papa. _Random accidents like that don’t happen! Not without divine intervention._

Jisa froze.

_You can’t possibly be thinking that._

“I just had a horrible idea,” she said dully. “It’s stupid, but...we’ve got reason to believe the gods want you to fight Leareth, Van. And both of the things that happened are in places where the Star-Eyed has a lot of influence.”

Silence.

“I didn’t think of that,” Vanyel said faintly. “I should have. You’re right, it’s…not insane to propose that. She undoubtedly has the power and influence.”

“And motive?” Jisa pressed.

Vanyel frowned for a long time, and then shook his head. “Doesn’t fit. We know She can be ruthless, and I wouldn’t put the attempt on Arven past her, but when it comes to k’Treva, they were _her_ people. Her pact with them goes two ways. I can’t imagine even She would go that far just to provoke us into attacking. Especially not when it significantly weakens our position and I assume She wants us to _win_.”

Jisa had to agree. “Maybe a different god?” she offered. “If They’re having a sort of proxy-war, I don’t know, Vkandis or Kernos or the Shadow-Lover god…” She didn’t actually know if Kernos was a real god. People worshipped Him, but Father had never mentioned knowing about His schemes.

“I’ll note it,” Vanyel said. “It’s, well, pretty insane, but not much crazier than positing some Valdemaran noble orchestrated this.”

“…It’d have bigger implications, though.” Jisa felt suddenly cold. “If k’Treva _was_ Her… There’s a Heartstone right here.”

Vanyel shivered as well. And then was silent for a long time.

“I…guess it’s worth mentioning that concern to Randi. Not that I can think what he’d _do_ about it. And Leareth is still our most plausible explanation, but…why, damn it? What in all hells is he playing at?” He twisted unhappily in the chair. “If it were just k’Treva, I’d almost say it was _more_ likely to be an accident than him, but the timing on both is too suspicious. Just, I don’t know, saying it was him doesn’t feel like it explains it. The more I poke at it, the less sense it makes.”

“Is there any way it was him, but he didn’t mean to?” Jisa offered. “That it was a backup plan of some kind and it went ahead by mistake?”

“We thought of that,” Melody said.

“It might resolve my confusion around the why,” Vanyel added. “But it still jars with what I thought I knew about his resources, and…it’s a pretty catastrophic error. He’s slipped before, but not nearly this badly. Doesn’t fit.” He grimaced. “Gods, I hope it’s not that. It would be a goddamned tragedy. Forcing us into a war when neither of us wanted… I really, really hoped we weren’t going to repeat Urtho’s history.”

“You don’t _have_ to go to war.”

A heavy sigh. “I don’t see how we can afford to do anything else. And – it’s not just my decision.”

“You could talk to him,” Jisa pointed out. “You have all those contingency plans in case you needed to communicate urgently – you can just _ask_ him what he’s up to.”

Vanyel closed his eyes, turning away from her. “Jisa, gods, I want to… Just, at this point, I can’t trust anything he says. And he’s got ways to contact me as well. If he reaches out and says it was all a misunderstanding, then…I don’t know, maybe that means something.”

* * *

Stef opened his eyes to pitchy darkness, not even broken by the fire, which had burned down to ashes. Still the middle of the night, and he wasn’t sure what had woken him.

…Beside him, Vanyel was still, his breathing slow and steady. Too steady. _You’re not asleep, just pretending to be._ Reaching into the lifebond confirmed it. Van was shielding it, which he generally didn’t do in his sleep.

“Van- _ashke_?” he whispered. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“…Oh, you’re awake?” He heard the sheets rustle as Vanyel turned over. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Stef reached for him in the darkness, finding his shoulder, then his cheek. “What’s on your mind?”

A sigh. “It’s nothing, you should–”

“No. Talk to me, Van.”

“You are _so_ bossy sometimes.” But there was a smile in his voice. “Just thinking about something Jisa said earlier.”

“You talked to Jisa?” There had been no chance to catch up the night before; Stef had been with Randi until late, and he hadn’t even had the energy left to ask what Vanyel had spent his evening doing when he stumbled home and found his lifebonded tiredly undressing. They had collapsed into bed without exchanging more than a few affectionate nothings, and Stef didn’t remember anything after his head landed on the pillow.

“I was with Melody and Jisa turned up. Still feels like it’s abusing my position to steal the dean of Mindhealers’ and use her as a sounding board, that’s not her job, but she claims not to mind.”

It might have been self-consciousness in his voice. Stef couldn’t tell for sure. “Van- _ashke_ , can you unshield the lifebond?” he said. “And make a light? I can’t tell what you’re feeling.”

A pause. “Too tired. Candles are somewhere…”

They were in the drawer of the bedside stand, rarely used. Stef fumbled with the tinderbox, considered dragging himself up to see if the fire had enough embers left to light a taper, and then gave up. “Van, can you…?”

“You are so spoiled.” But Vanyel lit it for him with a spark of mage-energies. His face appeared as though from nowhere, propped on his fist and cast in relief. Dim yellow light flickered from the planes of his cheekbones, his eyes glinting out of dark pools. Half in shadow, his silver hair was ghostly; he looked older, frailer.

The sense of him deepened, unfolding in Stef’s chest. There was fear there, and a sort of tugging restlessness.

“Go on,” Stef said, encouraging.

“…It doesn’t make sense. Leareth doing this now. I can’t tell a story that holds together.” Aching confusion. “So we’re missing something. Could be very relevant. And…gods, Stef, I don’t want us to be the ones who start the war. Feels like repeating history. Doing what Urtho did all over again, and, damn it, we’re even bringing half the continent into this war. Dara even wants to get a message to the Shin’a’in–” A soft sound.

“What?”

“I’m an idiot.” Vanyel grimaced. “It’s not something we can arrange _quickly_ , but there are other Tayledras Vales. Not allied with Valdemar, of course. Still, they might consider sending aid if it meant avenging k’Treva.” His eyes went unfocused. “I’ve passed it on to ‘Fandes. Brightstar or Featherfire might know a way of contacting them. Anyway. We need all the help we can get, I understand that, just…doesn’t it scare you? That if the forces we’re accumulating face off against him, we might rip apart the world in the process?”

“You’re not trying to get any of Urtho’s weapons to use against him,” Stef pointed out. “Nothing we’ve got is as bad as the weapon that set off the Cataclysm.”

“No, because I’m not insane. But _he_ might have something that bad.” Vanyel shifted onto his back, hands folded behind his head, staring intently at the ceiling. “I don’t know. From the inside, it seems like the right move in expectation, even if the downside cost is high. And yet I take a step back and…it feels like an inevitable landslide. Something that everyone involved should want to stop by any means, but none of us can afford to move unilaterally, so we’re stuck in this awful balance.” His breath caught. “Jisa said, we don’t have to go to war. That I could try to open talks with him instead, get some answers first. I wish… I can’t trust him, after what happened, but there’s still a possible world where this doesn’t mean what we think it does. Where going to a war footing is the worst mistake we could make.” He fell silent.

Stef, tentatively, stretched out a hand and rested it over Vanyel’s collarbone. “I know. It makes sense to be afraid of that. It would be really, really bad.” Pointless, empty words of comfort. “I don’t know either. I’m sorry.”

A whuff of bitter laughter. “I can hardly ask you to solve this dilemma for me.”

“Sometimes it still helps to speak of it. I’m happy to listen.” Stef eased himself down to the mattress. _Relax._ The threat wasn’t a physical one that would strike them in their bed; it was distant and abstract, and holding his shoulders up around his ears wasn’t going to help defend against it. “Van, are you worried that Randi isn’t taking it as seriously as you are? How bad it would be in the world where we’re making a mistake?”

“Maybe.” Quiet, sad. An admission of failure. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s…not wrong, that most of the evidence points in one direction.” A heavy sigh. “No point chewing it over any more tonight.”

* * *

Dara watched, dully, as the various Heralds drifted into the meeting-room. She didn’t want to be here at _all_. And she couldn’t understand the exhaustion that glued her to her chair; she had been very good and gone to bed at a reasonable time last night, even though it meant some of the things she had promised Randi would be done weren’t. Admitting that she hadn’t met a deadline was one of Dara’s least favourite things.

It was midmorning of the fourth day, and they had a decision to make.

Karis had departed for Iftel a candlemark before dawn, secretly, riding an unbonded Companion mare who had volunteered herself for the cause, accompanied by two of their precious remaining Herald-Mages. Van could have Gated them to Boarsden, but that was still almost a day’s journey, and they had already been using Van much too hard as it was. Traveling overland with such a minimal guard was a risk, but the Queen could make much better time with a small escort, and her Suncat would surely be nearby and could jump her out if they were attacked.

 _Why can’t you have Sola jump you there in the first place,_ Dara had asked. _I do not give her orders,_ had been Karis’ answer. It seemed that the Suncats, like Companions, were infuriatingly spare with using their full powers. 

The morning had been hectic and exhausting, starting before dawn, as Dara supervised Karis’ departure, followed up on preparations she had delegated, and made various other visits. Among them, to Brightstar’s sickroom, where Featherfire had asked her a lot of questions about Valdemar’s plans and how she could assist. Brightstar had the creepy lack-of-expression of someone under a heavy Mindhealing block, and he was still bedridden, but Gemma said he was improving physically.

Jisa was tentatively scheduled to Gate to White Winds the next morning, along with the two other parties who would immediately ride out in opposite directions. As discussed, Siri would take the Petras leg, accompanied by Herald-Mage Katri, who ought to be sufficiently recovered to ride by then, and who was strong enough to Gate from the south side of the Comb to Horn if absolutely necessary. Lissa would lead the expedition to Mournedealth, with a Herald escort, and bearing Need. Herald-Mage Nani would go with her. Dara would rather have sent Nubia, whose Gift was stronger, but Nani had more experience, making her better placed to assess mercenary companies and their mages, and she knew the Gate-spell. With Need, she could manage the distance. Nubia would stay in Haven and cover the Web.

Dara glanced around the meeting-room, now starting to fill up; nearly a dozen weary faces greeted her. Randi was the only one absent; the last few days had been hard on him, and he was in bed, with Shavri and Stef both attending him. But aside from that, even Sandra and Kilchas had dragged themselves out for this, after Dara made time to swing by and talk to them. She had noted the tension between them then; Sandra, she thought, was certain this had been Leareth’s work, and impatient for the war-declaration to go through, while Kilchas was still holding out hope that it was just a misunderstanding.

Vanyel was there, as distant and controlled as she had ever seen him; his shields were so tight that her Othersenses couldn’t feel him at all, and his face revealed nothing of his thoughts. Him, she hadn’t had a chance to speak with at all yet; inviting him had been a last-minute decision, earlier, when she and Tran had been breaking their rule and talking about work while snuggling in bed. Dara had badly needed that scant comfort to face it at all.

To her surprise, Tran had proposed it. _We’re not discussing details yet_. _For the generalities, I’d like to hear what he has to say._

Knowing Tran’s feelings about Leareth, Dara was impressed by how calmly he was taking all of this. Though, maybe that actually made it simpler for him. He was less _surprised_ than she was. Less drowning in uncertainty and confusion. From his point of view, the decisions ahead were obvious, and Dara found herself almost jealous of that certainty.

…The room had filled up a while ago, and Dara was just stalling at this point. _Don’t be a coward._

Rolan’s mind brushed hers, cool and blue, alien but still reassuring. _:You can do this, Chosen:_

She leaned back slightly, forcing her posture to open, her hands loose on the table; she had to present the illusion of calm even if she wasn’t.

“I have an announcement to make,” she said. “We’re already setting in motion the plans we’ve made over the last few years, making contact with our allies. Without the approval of the Council. Arguably, Randi has overextended his authority already.”

She took a slow, deep breath. “I don’t want to do this. I would rather wait until we have confirmation that it was him, before we make any irreversible moves. I can’t stop thinking about Urtho, and how from our perspective looking back, it seems he made a terrible mistake. But. We don’t have a _lot_ of doubt. Maybe there’s a one in a hundred chance that this was a misunderstanding. I don’t think that’s enough to outweigh the cost of delaying.”

Silence.

“There’s a Council meeting scheduled for this afternoon,” Dara said. “I think we should vote on a formal declaration of war. Randi agrees. If that passes, and I would be shocked if it didn’t, I think we should send out orders _immediately_ , as in tonight, to move our troops.”

They knew where the pass was. There was still the problem of it being concealed by magic that, apparently, Valdemaran Herald-Mages didn’t know how to defeat, but it was the Tayledras scouts who had uncovered it; she could only hope that Brightstar knew the trick and would recover in time to go north and help break it.

Dara cast her eyes down to the tabletop. “So that’s the plan, unless anyone here has a counterargument. There’s an argument to hold off on an official war declaration until we have confirmation that our various allies are actually coming, and to have the Council vote one-off on troop movements instead. It’s a difference in description and not substance, though. One way or another, we can’t redeploy without the Council’s permission.”

Which meant Leareth’s spies would hear about it, inevitably. And if all this _hadn’t_ been him, somehow, it might still spook him into going on the offensive. But, Dara thought, that was a risk they had to take.

No one spoke.

 _Come on, help me out._ Dara understood Randi’s exasperated looks in meetings a lot better now.

Treven had disappeared behind a jarring mask of blank courtesy, which brought back a flicker of her irritation from earlier. She knew he was overwhelmed, out of his depth, but damn it, all of them were, and she at least was trying to have opinions and theories, not just nodding blandly at other people’s.

Keiran…looked relieved, almost. Dara had wondered if she actually found this part less stressful than the years of waiting and not knowing. She was, in a sense, on familiar ground now; troop logistics were a concrete and straightforward problem, compared to the guessing-games before.

Shallan’s protuberant amber eyes looked even more bulgy than usual. _She knows what this means for her students._ Dara had already spoken to her about graduating an extra two dozen students early, waiving their internships, and sending them to cover almost all of the southern circuits, freeing up their more experienced people to go north.

It was a brutal move that would inevitably cost lives, but what alternative did they have? If there was still a Valdemar at the end of this, they would be spending the next fifty years repaying a dozen different flavours of debt. _I’ll take it._ If they survived, almost any price would seem worth it, and if they _didn’t_ , it wasn’t like any of it mattered.

Joshel was the first to speak. He licked his lips. “Should we add a vote on a mid-year tax? I’m not sure we have enough in the treasury to cover all of this.”

In the middle of winter? That would ruffle a lot of feathers. Add it to the list of favours to pay back if there was still anything left come spring, Dara thought. “That’s a good idea. Can you write up some numbers by this afternoon?”

Joshe fiddled with his sleeve. “Um, can I leave and start now?”

“Go on.” She waved vaguely in his direction. He was coping with the overwhelm by bunkering down and focusing on his duties, Dara thought, and she couldn’t blame him. “Thank you. Marius?”

“If we’re going to move the Guard, I want our Farseers covering them properly. Currently we have them stationed with respect to our Herald deployments, _not_ the Guard. That’s just a practical aspect, but I do want to make sure we coordinate on it.”

“I’ll leave that up to you. Talk to Keiran.” _Don’t make me keep track of anything else._ “Katha?”

In their conversation earlier, Katha had seemed more genuinely uncertain than any of the others. Not like Kilchas’ vague hopefulness; her confusion was anchored in specifics. _If it’s him then I don’t understand what he’s playing at,_ she had said. _We need more information._

Dara couldn’t disagree with that, but they couldn’t afford to delay and wait for that information either, as unhappy as it was making her spymaster.

“The Icefoxes,” Katha said. “We know their current position – they have a very clever mage-artifact set that lets anyone above hedge-wizard track them, and Tamara was able to do it. So far, we’ve told them to explore the mountains without actually crossing. I’d like to pass a message and change those orders.” Her face tightened. “I’ll make it discretionary – I won’t order our best people to their deaths if they think they can’t slip through unseen. But I’d like them to have the option, and I reckon they’ll take it.”

Dara agreed. The Icefoxes were very good. So far they had spent two stints of months each outside of the Kingdom entirely, living off the land with no amenities, and she hadn’t heard of any complaints, much less desertions.

“Do it,” she said. _If they all die, at least we hopefully have more mercenaries on the way._ A ruthless, horrible thought, but she couldn’t call it false.

Silence fell.

Vanyel leaned forward, catching her eye. Dara tried not to stiffen. She could read nothing at all from his face; he was a statue carved of ice, as remote as the snow-capped mountain peaks that apparently made a gorgeous view from Waymeet.

She swallowed. “Van?”

“I won’t disagree with any of your plans.” His voice was carefully neutral. “But, I think something you said earlier was wrong. I _don’t_ think we know enough to put ninety-nine in a hundred odds that he did this. Are you really that confident? In either direction?”

She flinched. “No. I guess not.” Van could always call her out on misstating numbers.

A short, satisfied nod. “Neither am I. Given how little sense this makes, we’ve got to be missing something huge, and I think we should be correspondingly uncertain in any claims we’re making. Given that, and the downside of being wrong… Maybe it does make sense to move to a war footing, and honestly I think he would understand that too, but I think we should also pass a message to him, via one of the methods I’ve discussed in the past.”

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him. “Why?” she said finally.

He lifted a hand, and then let it fall, palm flat on the table. “Learn more. Hear what he has to say. Give him a chance to de-escalate this, offer some compelling alternate explanation.” His eyes bored into her. “Don’t you think Urtho would wish he had talked to Ma’ar _before_ opening with a surprise attack?”

Dara opened her mouth and closed it, a couple of times. “We’re not going to catch him by surprise,” she pushed out finally.

“Well, no. He’s learned. But any gesture of good faith could make a difference, here. Even if we really did think the odds were one in a hundred that this wasn’t a hostile move from him, shouldn’t that mean it’s worth putting one-hundredth of our efforts towards a peace offering?”

From that angle, it wasn’t a crazy argument. So why had it caught her completely off guard?

“Remind me,” she said faintly. “What were the methods of communicating with him?”

“A neutral, un-Gifted messenger with a letter or a verbal message. One step stronger, a neutral messenger carrying half of the teleson, so we could open a two-way conversation. It wouldn’t have to be with me; it could be with Randi, or you, or–”

“No.” Tran interrupted before he could finish, his voice hard and flat. “Absolutely not. For one, we’ve only got one teleson and we need it elsewhere. Two, we’re not giving him any information that could weaken our position, which includes what he could rip out of a defenceless messenger’s mind, and we’re certainly not handing him an insecure communication device that he might be able to use to locate us and attack directly. Talking in one of your codes doesn’t help. That works between allies, but the whole point is we don’t trust him.”

Randi would agree, Dara thought. Not with Tran’s undoubting vehemence – he would vacillate and worry and talk himself in circles for candlemarks – but at the end of it, he would make the same call. Not worth it.

Vanyel seemed unsurprised. “On the other side, I’ve mentioned the _nalaar._ That’s in Leareth’s camp, obviously. He claims one could reach us in two days. It hasn’t been long since Savil died, and if it wasn’t him he’d have needed to wait for spy-reports to even know about it,and then decide what to say in a message. So I don’t think it means much, that we’ve heard nothing.”

Dara hadn’t considered that. It felt like it had been weeks.

“Another option.” Vanyel’s eyelids flickered downward. “He’s sworn safe passage to me, if I were to go north alone. Or Yfandes, if she went without me, but I’d rather not do that if it’s all the same to you.” For the first time, his expression showed a flash of pain, there and gone. “Though I could…probably…survive if something happened to her.” The words came haltingly, uncomfortably reminiscent of someone forced to speak under a coercive Truth Spell, fighting it each step of the way. “I think I could still fight. If I needed to.”

“No!” This time, Treven was the one who interrupted, surging forward in his chair. “Vanyel, _no_. No one would ever ask that of you. Not even if it were guaranteed to stop a war. That’s not – we can’t – it’s not _right_.”

One eyebrow lifted just a little. “Really? Not to save millions of lives?”

Treven shifted uneasily, pink staining his cheeks. “No. That’s a line you don’t cross.”

“I agree, lines are worth something.” Was that a gentle smile in Van’s silver eyes? It didn’t reach his mouth. “I didn’t used to see that. I do now. But, Treven, there’s a line _I_ don’t cross. Ever. I’m not willing to look at something I could do to improve the odds, however costly, and turn away.”

Echoes of a pink-haloed Work Room, four years ago.  _It’s not about having made a vow, it’s only that the problems in the world aren’t fixed yet. I can’t ever turn my back on that._ There was something happening behind Vanyel’s mask, but Dara couldn’t decipher it.

“You’ve already done more than anyone could ask–” she started, soothingly. 

“That’s not what reality will judge me on.” Calm, unruffled. If that was an illusion, it was the most convincing one she had ever seen. “If we take the war to him, we’re sending our Heralds and soldiers – and our allies, and innocent bystanders – to die. Tens of thousands of people, and I don’t know what the odds are that we win, but I wouldn’t bet money on our side.” A pause, as he looked around. “I can do maths. It’s worth one man’s life for even a one-in-a-hundred chance of stopping that.”

_Not your life._ The frantic plea tangled on her lips. 

“But–” Treven tugged on his hair. “But you’re the only one who can defeat him.” 

“For one, no. That’s stupid.” No harshness in his voice, only that slight smile. “A god wanted me to believe that, once upon a time. And maybe it was true, before – maybe I’m the only one who can take him on all by myself. In the original vision, for some reason we had done a _terrible_ job of planning, and I was alone. It was going to take the Guard too long to arrive, so I had no choice. But, thanks to all of you, that isn’t the world we’re in now. We’ve got armies. Mages. At worst, about ten Adepts, or whatever equivalent number of weaker mages, could call a concert Final Strike and do exactly the same damage I could.” 

He glanced around. “Two. I have a reasonable chance of defending myself, and even in the case where he’s fully our enemy, I may be more valuable to him as a hostage than a corpse. I can get close enough to him to learn his true intentions, one way or another, and…do what I have to in either case.” A soft light in his eyes. “If he did betray us, and I can confirm it, it’s possible I can still end this. The way I did in the original vision. Both of us dead in a blaze of fire, and no armies obliterating each other at all. Isn’t that a preferable outcome?” 

_No._ Dara wanted to scream, and she couldn’t. 

“Or he could lay a compulsion on you and send you back to slaughter your own side,” Tran barked. “Or worse, talk you into it with his damned silver tongue. How can you even consider making yourself vulnerable to him?” 

Vanyel answered calmly. “You may not understand how little I trust him right now, Tran. I just got a lot of information. I don’t know what it means, yet, but it points to him having murdered a number of my closest friends. I’m not going to let down my guard. If he was in any way responsible for this – and it’s going to take a _lot_ of convincing that he wasn’t – then I don’t care what his justifications are, I won’t hesitate to kill him. If it looks like he’s close to overwhelming me…” He lifted a shoulder and let it fall, a slow deliberate shrug. “Then I’ll kill myself before I let him send me to fight my own people, and do as much damage as I can on the way out.” 

Silence.

Vanyel sighed. “I don’t think I have good chances of heading off a war, by either path. Probably less than one in ten, and that’s being optimistic. Still. You _don’t_ need me. If all the allies we’ve gathered aren’t enough to defeat him, that remains true with or without my contribution. And I’m the only one who has a chance at negotiation.”

Dara was still reeling. _No, stop, slow down–_

All around her, her other Heralds stared helplessly at him. Shock, denial, anger, sick horror. 

Except for Keiran, whose face held reluctant admiration. And Kilchas, who looked…hopeful?

“It’s too risky,” she heard herself say. 

“Dara, none of our choices are safe. Sending me north is a gamble. So is _not_ sending me.”

“Van, it’s not only on you–”

“It isn’t. That’s the goddamned point.” Vanyel straightened in his chair, holding himself erect. “If it were, I wouldn’t dare. I can afford to gamble my own life _because_ all of you have my back.” 

Something spasmed in Dara’s gut. She tried to answer, but no words came.

Treven finally seemed to unfreeze himself. “It’s not just your decision–” he started. 

...Tran shoved back his chair, standing. “For a goddamned reason. You can’t be objective.” He wasn’t shouting; his voice was level, conversational. Dara flinched anyway. 

“You don’t trust me.” Vanyel rose as well. “I understand why.” He ducked behind Kilchas, stopping a yard away from Tran, and his eyes went unfocused. “Come into my mind. See for yourself.” 

Instinctively leaning into her Othersenses, Dara sucked in her breath. Vanyel had dropped his shields entirely. An open book. His surface thoughts were a tangle of reluctance and confusion, but somehow quiescent, taking up no extra space. There was a sense of bedrock – not determination, exactly, but cool resignation, almost peace. 

She withdrew the probe, unsure if it was out of respect for his privacy or fear of what she might find. 

Tran, a vein pulsing at his temple, hesitated for a long time before, finally, stepping forward and gripping Vanyel’s forehead with both hands. He closed his eyes.

Maybe thirty seconds in, Dara realized she was holding her breath. She forced air out, as quietly as she could. 

Minutes. 

Finally, Tran stumbled back, life returning to his expression. He looked… He reminded her of that painting in the Temple to Kernos. _The monk after battle._ An unnamed man in the martial side of the Order, who had surrendered himself fully to his god, returning to his senses alone amidst the desolation of of victorious battlefield. Smoke rising, catching the sunrise, terrible in its beauty. And his face – dawning realization, terror and awe intermingled with something like love. 

“You bastard,” Tran said dully. “How do you – damn it, you really do mean to go north and, and… How is it just _numbers_ to you? Your life? How are you ready to kill him and ally with him at the same goddamned time?”

“Well, I won’t do both at once, obviously.” A hint of dry humour in Vanyel’s voice. “If I make it that far at all, there’s a decision point where I pick one or the other. Odds are I try to kill him, but I have a lot of uncertainty, I don’t know which world I’m in yet, so I need to hold both.” 

“You’re the craziest person I’ve ever met.” Tran’s voice shook, but there was grudging admiration in it. He sank back into his chair.

No one said anything. Vanyel stayed on his feet, his shoulders relaxed, hands loose at his sides. Open, hiding nothing, and yet. _I don’t understand you at all._

“Randi isn’t going to approve it,” Treven said. “We need you here.”

Vanyel didn’t answer at first. His eyes pierced into nothing; Dara didn’t think he was seeing the room around him. 

Finally, he turned. Apology, regret, naked grief. 

“Randi can’t actually stop me,” he said. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still many feelings but, I hope, a bit of a reprieve from the grimness of recent chapters.


	7. Chapter Seven

Randi’s suite was very quiet. And much hotter than Stef would have preferred; the King was always cold, lately. Shavri, at his side with one hand on his shoulder and the other on Need’s hilt, seemed only half-awake, her eyelids lowered.

Randi lay in his day-bed, blankets pulled up to his chest, his too-thin fingers loose around one of Keiran’s reports. He had taken several meetings over the morning, as well as a visit from his not-daughter Arven – Andrel had carried the little girl over from the House of Healing, flanked by six of the Sunsguard, and deposited her next to him for a few minutes of snuggles. Dara had pushed for it, worried the child would be lonely without her mother, but Stef suspected Randi had gleaned more comfort than she had.

 _:Stef:_ Vanyel’s voice in his head. _:Where are you?:_

Stef flinched, startled, and nearly dropped his lute. It felt different than usual; distant, like a voice shouting from a long way off, wavering in and out.

Neither Shavri nor Randi had noticed his reaction. _In Randi’s quarters,_ he thought as loudly as possible.

_:Good. Listen to me. Don’t react or show any surprise:_

What was happening? _I won’t_ , he promised.

 _:Stef, I–:_ Hesitation, the sense of his lifebonded dragging himself forward unwilling. _:Since last night, I’ve been thinking. We have to open communications with him. And the goddamned dream isn’t cooperating. I always have it when I get new information, but I’m starting to think either he’s blocking it or something else is:_

Where was Van going with this?

 _:No one is willing to consider sending a messenger:_ A sick feeling in Van’s mindvoice. _:Can’t blame them. If Leareth hears about the war declaration first, he might murder them just out of paranoia:_

Another long pause. _Go on,_ Stef thought, impatient. His guts were seething, but through great effort of will, he kept his face still and his hands moving on the lute-strings, pushing with his Gift.

 _:…He promised me safe passage:_ Vanyel sent. _:Even now, that oath might still hold:_

Stef’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. _You want to go north._

 _:Yes. I think someone has to, and I have the best chance. Even if the most likely outcome is that I walk into a trap and die for nothing. Yfandes hates it but she agrees:_ Pain leaked through the faltering mind-link. _:Yfandes isn’t the only one who gets a say. Stef, I trust you. What do you think I should do?:_

Stef was dizzy. It felt like Van had kicked his feet out from under him, and then kicked the whole world aside while he was still falling. No solid ground left.

_He’s asking me. For permission._

In the quiet space of trance, he had been doing some thinking of his own. Van wasn’t wrong. It _was_ the right move in expectation. And, yet, he couldn’t imagine letting Vanyel ride north on his own, almost certainly to his death, when he, Stef, could stop it with a word. _How could I live with myself?_

…Well, Randi wasn’t going to sign off on it anyway.

 _:I know:_ Vanyel acknowledged. _:If we do this, Stef, it would be against orders:_

Oh. Breaking with the rest of the Heraldic Circle, which was monumental in itself – but Stef’s mind was catching on the first half.

We. Van had said ‘we’.

 _:Yes:_ Impatience. _:Stef, I wish – I would never force you, and I hate to even ask, but if you were willing to come…:_

Stef was still falling. _You would risk my life along with yours._

 _:Leaving you behind wouldn’t be much safer:_ Agony behind the words.

No, it wouldn’t. Van knew exactly what would happen to his lifebonded if he died.

 _:Stef, ashke, I won’t do that to you:_ Vanyel sent. _:Not against your will. You have the right to ask that we risk our lives together:_ A pause. _:Or that we don’t, and we stay here and hope for the best:_

Van rarely used the endearment towards him. Stef closed his eyes, which were suddenly burning. _That’s not any safer._ The war would come to them, sooner or later, and Randi would have no choice but to order Van to fight. With the same likely outcome, but in one version, they had a chance – not a large chance, but not zero – of avoiding any more violence. One last leap of faith. 

_I know what you are, love._ Vanyel was brave enough to take that jump. Was he?

He had, after all, made a vow. _My land. My people._ A sacred trust; a foundation built on love. A light that would never fade. Stupid, trite, fake words, but there was something real underneath.

Somehow, Stef had fallen into a critical moment in history, right in the center of the levers of power, and he had a chance to seize one of those levers in his own hand. Leave a mark. He knew himself, too. What sort of pattern a Stef was. How could he set down an opportunity like that?

 _Let’s do it,_ he sent.

 _:I love you:_ Desperate, grasping. _:Stef, I’m sorry, I didn’t want–:_

 _Stop,_ Stef thought, and the pleading words cut off. _Van, what next?_

Silence.

 _:Excuse yourself:_ Vanyel sent finally. _:Say you feel ill or something. Go to our rooms, use that Bardic trick to be unobtrusive. Pack our things, and then meet me outside Randi’s suite in, hmm, fifteen minutes. He’s earned my telling him to his face:_

* * *

_I can’t believe I’m doing this._

We, Vanyel corrected himself. Not alone.

He had rammed his way through on sheer momentum all the way until he stormed out of the meeting-room, planning to detour outside and make sure that Yfandes and Melody-the-horse would be saddled and ready. Hopefully the conversation he was about to have would go some definition of well, and they would depart with Randi’s reluctant blessing, but he wasn’t sure of that. Best be prepared to leave quickly.

The shakes had caught up to him then. It had taken ever fibre of control he possessed to slow his breathing and coax his body to stop trembling; nothing he could do had calmed his racing heart, but that at least wasn’t visible from the outside.

Yfandes had been the one to say it first, words exchanged at the speed of thought during the meeting. _I don’t think Randi can make this call, Chosen. He can do the maths, but the numbers won’t move him, because you’re one of his dearest friends, and he loves you._

 _Then someone else has to make it for him_ , he had answered, and it had been several seconds before the implications caught up with him.

Yfandes had made no attempt to push, but she hadn’t disagreed.

It was, from one angle, definitely treason. The fact that his own Companion couldn’t bring herself to stop him, or even gently advise him against, told him all he needed to know.

There had never really been a choice.

 _I’m going to ask Randi_ , he had called out over his shoulder on his way out. Mollifying words, only half a lie – he was going to ask Randi, but not for permission.

No one had moved to follow him; he had caught them off guard. Himself as well. Sitting down for the meeting, he hadn’t had an inkling yet of how it would end.

It wasn’t too late to back out. He could actually ask Randi for permission, rather than informing him of a decision already made. The answer would be no, and–

Hooves like bells. _:Herald Vanyel:_

A Companion’s mindvoice, not Yfandes. This one was cold, shining steel. Inhuman.

Slowly, reluctantly, Vanyel turned. _:Rolan:_

The Monarch’s Own Companion cantered to a stop. _:My Chosen tells me that you wish to ride north:_

No way to escape the conversation now. _Center and ground._ Vanyel straightened his shoulders, clasping his hands behind his back. _:I’m going. It’s our best chance:_

Blue eyes seemed to cut through to his center. _:You are not objective:_

 _:I’m not. Neither is Randi. No human being ever has been:_ He breathed in and out. _:I know you haven’t trusted me in the past. Still, you know the facts of our situation. Look in the blue place, and tell me I’m wrong:_ It was a wild bet – he didn’t know for sure that Yfandes’ agreement came from what she had seen there, or that Rolan would see the same thing, but he suspected it.

A long pause. _:You are very stubborn:_ Rolan sent finally.

Which wasn’t an answer, but it said enough. _:You’re not the first to notice:_ Vanyel’s pulse was singing in his ears again. He kept his breathing even. _:Rolan. I’ll make the offer to you as well. Come into my mind, and see for yourself what my intentions are:_

He closed his eyes, and dropped his shields. It felt like falling, like his insides might slide out onto the snow. Rolan’s probe on his mind was like the brush of an ancient blue star. It took all of his will not to flinch away.

Finally, the touch withdrew. _:I see:_ Rolan sent, another non-answer.

 _:You can’t stop me either:_ Vanyel pointed out. _:All the Heralds in Haven’t can’t stop me:_ Except Jisa, maybe, and he was willing to bet his life that she wouldn’t. _:Still, I would rather we part ways as allies, not enemies:_

Rolan stared him down, unblinking. Vanyel lifted his chin and stared back.

 _:As you wish:_ Rolan sent.

Vanyel’s knees went weak. The chill was soaking through his cloak now. He tried not to shiver.

 _:I will not forget you, Herald Vanyel:_ Blazing, alien. Not quite a goodbye.

The Groveborn Companion turned away. It was still snowing, though at least the wind was low, flakes drifting down in eddies rather than driving into his face.

Vanyel stared at it for a long time, half-caught in the memory of a different snowscape, before forcing himself into motion.

He stumbled to a halt outside the heavy oak doors to the central Palace wing. Those doors might as well have been a granite wall. _:’Fandes:_ he sent, helplessly.

She surged into full rapport, her light flooding his mind. _:You can do this, Chosen. I’m with you:_

 _Trusted allies will face you across enemy ground_ , Vkandis had said to him, through an old man’s lips. Maybe he had been doomed from the very beginning to end up here. Handing an ultimatum to the man who had taken his oath, and turning his back.

What would Shavri – no. He couldn’t think about that now. Focus on the mission.

Was he doing any of it for the right reasons? _How is it just numbers to you,_ Tran had accused him, and the answer was that it wasn’t. It was his fear fuelling it, the sick terror that everyone he cared about was going to die and it would be his fault. And rage, his desperate need to destroy whoever had taken Savil and Starwind and Moondance – and probably that meant Leareth, but maybe, just maybe, it meant allying with him against whatever force was trying to drive them to war. It took constant effort to hold open the uncertainty, an endless loop of reminding himself that the pieces didn’t fit yet and their interpretation of the puzzle could well be wrong.

It was reckless and impulsive and exactly the kind of mistake a younger Vanyel would have made. And yet. The time to conserve his resources and prioritize survival was over. This was what it had all been leading up to. The end of a path that had been weirder and wilder then he could have imagined at sixteen.

 _:It might be a mistake:_ Yfandes acknowledged. _:It’s almost certainly going to end in tragedy. And neither of us can see it with clear eyes. Still, we have to do our best to decide, and make a stand:_

 _:I know:_ Vanyel answered, straightening up and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Inside, he kicked the snow from his boots and shook out his cloak before draping it over his arm. The hallway was jarring in its quiet ordinariness, a page passing him without a second glance. Something ought to be on fire, surely.

Stef was hovering in the hall outside Randi’s quarters, still wearing his Scarlets, his travel-pack and lute case both slung over his shoulder. Vanyel’s bags were piled on the floor. His lifebonded hummed a tune, and Vanyel found that his eyes tried to slide past. _Nothing to see here,_ Stef’s Gift whispered.

Then Stef saw him, and dropped the Empathic projection, acknowledging him with a nod and ironic smile. Only the wild edge in his eyes gave away his nerves.

“Stef.” Vanyel stopped in front of his lifebonded, and reached to take both of his hands. “Are you sure?”

Stef held his gaze, unwavering, the hint of humour vanishing. “If you are.”

 _I’ve never been less sure of anything._ Yfandes had named it, though. One way or another, they had to choose, and indecision was its own choice.

“Then let’s go in,” he said quietly, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt.

“In a moment.” Hazel eyes bright and piercing, Stef reached for his neck, pulling him in.

Vanyel twisted his head to the side. _:Please don’t kiss me. I feel like I’m about to lose my breakfast:_

“Nerves, huh?” Stef hugged him instead. “If it makes you feel better, I almost pissed myself on the walk here.”

Vanyel sighed and let his chin rest in the crook of Stef’s collarbone. “I love you.”

“You’re mine,” Stef whispered before releasing him, and reaching to open the unlocked door. “Come on.”

Vanyel’s insides churned as he stepped across the threshold, but he didn’t let himself pause. He couldn’t walk away, so the only path was forward – and if he had already walked off the edge of the world, well, he just had to avoid looking down.

The stifling heat of Randi’s parlour made him even queasier. The King was waiting for him, propped him, his eyes alert. Shavri stood beside him, Need winking at her hip.

“Van.” Randi’s eyebrows lifted. “Dara told us you were on your way over. What is it?”

Each step closer felt like climbing a mountain, but Vanyel made himself cross the room, stopping beside the day-bed. “Randi. I’ve…”

Why was it so hard?

“I’m going north. To find Leareth and get to the bottom of this.” Like he should have done years ago, a voice in him whispered. Maybe the inevitability of it was an illusion, but deep in his bones, it felt like it had always been going to end one way. “My choice is made. It’s a gamble, but so is everything else, and I can do maths. Yfandes agrees. So does Rolan.”

He bowed his head. “Hopefully, I can get close enough to him or one of his commanders to confirm he was responsible. If so, I’ll try my absolute best to kill him and end it now. Temporarily, at least. He’s still immortal.” Remember to breathe. “If I learn it wasn’t him – and I think that’s unlikely, but it’s not ruled out yet – then I’ll attempt to broker a truce while we sort out what actually did happen.”

Neither of them spoke.

Vanyel couldn’t bring himself to look up. He felt Stef’s hand brush his, and gripped it, hard. “Randi. I would rather not do this against your orders.”

“Then why are you telling me?” No anger, yet, only confusion and pain. “If you’ve no intention of listening to me if I tell you no?”

Finally, Vanyel found the courage to lift his head. “Because I swore I would never take unilateral action without speaking to you first. And because you might say yes. Randi, I know this isn’t something you would ever ask of me, or of anyone. Given that I’ve taken the choice out of your hands, though, and you know for a fact that I’m doing it of my own free will – can you really disagree?”

Randi looked away, his expression bleak. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

“More likely than not.” _I’m not afraid._ Angry and bitter, yes, and he was afraid of failing. Not of dying. He had left that behind a long time ago. “Would you rather wait and order me to die facing him on the battlefield?”

The King flinched. “At least you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. Yfandes will be at my side. And Stef. He’s a trained spy, you know.”

If Randi was surprised, he hid it quickly. “Van,” he said, helplessly. “I need you.”

“You don’t. Everyone is replaceable.” Vanyel dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’m not much use to you as a gamepiece if you can’t sacrifice me, and we’ve always known you would have to. Given that, I’d appreciate you choosing the move with the best odds. Randi, please. Don’t make me die for nothing.”

Silence.

“Do you trust me?” Vanyel said softly.

“I hate you,” Randi said, without heat. “You and your goddamned silver tongue. You always could talk me into anything. Thanks to _him_. But, goddamnit, yes. I trust you.” A pained chuckle. “Maybe I’m a fool, but I do. Please, please don’t make me regret it.”

Vanyel’s throat tightened. Randi’s face blurred through a sheen of unshed tears. “I’ll try my best.”

“Come here.” The King held out his arms. “Stef, you too.”

Vanyel bent in close, letting the King awkwardly hug him. “Godspeed,” Randi whispered in his ear, his voice choked. “Do try to come home in one piece. If not, then…I suppose we’ll meet in the Shadow-Lover’s realm soon enough.”

Eyes prickling, Vanyel pulled back, and just barely caught Randi’s whisper to Stef. _Look after him, please._

Shavri ducked around the bed and embraced him without saying a word. Need, as usual, was chattier. _:By the Twain, you’re stubborn. Men! Bloody idiots, all of you. Can’t wait to die a heroic death:_ A snort. _:Be careful out there. I’ve become rather fond of you – I know, can’t imagine what I was thinking. Don’t you dare break your daughter’s heart and put it on me to mend it:_

“Go.” He had never heard Randi sound so tired. “Before I change my mind and arrest both of you for treason.”

Vanyel couldn’t think of any answer, so he didn’t bother, just pulled away, bending at the door to retrieve his baggage. He had expected it to feel, not better, but…cleaner, maybe. Randi had given his blessing. Sort of. So why did he still feel sick?

Stef walked at his side, silent as well.

Keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Outside, the snow was coming down harder now, the breeze picking up. Vanyel felt a pang of guilt; he was used to these conditions, but Stef wasn’t. It was going to be a miserable journey for him–

_:Father:_

Vanyel stumbled. “…Jisa?” He had been watching his feet, and he hadn’t felt her at all until she Mindtouched him; she shielded so well that she was a blind spot to his Othersenses.

She was just inside the open stable doors, cheeks pink from the cold, Yfandes at her side and Melody’s reins in her hands. Despite the snow, the chestnut palfrey seemed pleased enough to be going outside; her tail flicked from side to side.

“What are you doing here?” Vanyel said dully.

“Give me your bags.” She smiled brightly. “I know how Stef packs. I’ll get everything organized nicely for you while you go make your farewells.” At his blank stare: “What? Were you planning to ride off without saying goodbye to _anyone_?”

Yes, he had been about to do that.

“Don’t you dare. Van, your friends and family deserve better.” A pause. “Stef, did you pack Van’s medicine?”

Stef frowned. “Did I…I _think_ I grabbed it…”

“How many weeks’ worth? You might be gone for months. And I bet you forgot the chava. You must be looking forward to Van being cranky in the mornings.” Jisa sighed dramatically and flung up both hands in exasperation, nearly hitting Stef in the face with Melody’s reins. “You’re both hopeless.”

Vanyel bit back on his instinctive retort. He recognized the flicker of desperation in her eyes. The expression of someone watching the world careen out of control under their feet, struggling for any kind of purchase.

“Don’t worry,” Jisa added, too-cheerfully. “I’ll figure something out for us.”

“Us?” Vanyel said blankly. “Jisa, you can’t–”

“I’ll ride with you just for today and then turn back,” his daughter said over him. “Help you plan. Trev and Enara agreed it’ll make a difference, having another person to discuss with.”

 _:I won’t tell anyone the details:_ she added in private Mindspeech. _:Not even Treven. Safer that way:_

Vanyel blinked at her, trying to find his balance, and finally nodded his gratitude. “Right.” A second later, his mind thudded into the next wall. _Mother. Father._

“Your parents?” Jisa guessed. She paused, her expression flattening. “Trev says you can mention to your father that you’re going undercover. He’ll read between the lines, especially after the Council meeting – oh, you’d better rush if you want to catch him beforehand. And, honestly, it might be better if your mother _doesn’t_ put it together.”

It was coming at him too fast. Too much. And it was unsettling, hearing that decisive tone of command coming from his own not-quite-fifteen-year-old daughter – at any other time he might have been offended, he was almost forty, he damned well knew how to plan a trip – but there was no time to chew on it.

“I’ll do that,” Vanyel said faintly.

“Jisa,” his lifebonded interrupted. “How much can I tell Medren?”

Another, longer pause. “…Trev says as much as you feel comfortable with. We trust him to keep a secret.”

* * *

This once, Medren was grateful for the bear-cave dimness of Breda’s rooms. It meant she couldn’t actually _see_ his tears.

“I keep telling myself they’ll come home,” he heard himself say.

“So do I.” He heard Breda shift in her chair. “My Stef. He always could outsmart anyone and everything.”

 _Not this_.

For so many years, Medren and Stef had talked around the secret. Not quite acknowledged, and he had never pressed; it wasn’t his to know. Until now. Stef hadn’t told him everything, there hadn’t been time, but he had the shape of it.

An immortal, terrifyingly skilled enemy in the north. A decades-long negotiation that had finally failed. _How many years of peace did you buy us, Uncle Van?_ A precious gift that he hadn’t recognized until now, but not one that could last forever.

Valdemar was going to war.

The worst part was, his other Bardic friends were going to be _excited_ about it. Battles made for excellent song-fodder, and the chance of fame and glory for any Bard who could use that opportunity.

Medren had never been able to see it that way, even in the abstract, and especially not now. When it was his uncle and his best friend riding north to, more likely than not, their deaths.

“At least they have each other,” he said quietly. _If they die, it’ll be together._ He shoved the morbid line of thought aside.

“There is that.” A snort. “Good thing too, because Van would be absolutely useless without Stef. He’s a fine specimen of a Herald, but you’ve got to admit, he has all the common sense of a new-hatched chick.”

Medren laughed despite himself. “I know. It’s shocking.”

Silence fell.

“You know,” Breda said finally, “the Guard will be recruiting for Bards. With excellent pay, too. It’s important work. Keeps morale up and all.”

…It would break his grandmother’s heart if he went, one more person she loved in danger, but if there was anything Medren could do to even slightly help the war effort… _I have to._

Medren had never thought of himself as particularly courageous, and the thought made his stomach quake.

 _I fought off the old priest_ , he reminded himself. _Saved Uncle Van’s life. I’m not a coward._

Somehow, he felt better thinking about it, even if it would do nothing for Van and Stef directly.

In any case, it wasn’t a decision he had to make right now. “Breda, I should go. Make sure Grandmama isn’t in hysterics over this.”

* * *

It was a stupid idea to be getting drunk. Lissa knew that. She was leading an expedition of Heralds to Mournedealth the next day.

Neither she nor Father had spoken at all since he locked the door of his study behind him. Lissa had her own bottle of cheap spirits, hastily acquired at the market – getting falling-down drunk felt like a disrespectful use of his good brandy – and she had silently matched him cup for cup. Her head felt looser, now, but not enough.

“So that’s it,” Withen said. “We’re at war.”

The vote had passed unanimously. It hadn’t even been a long meeting. After the Healers kicked her out from Arven’s bedside, Lissa had holed up in Lady Treesa’s solar, trying to let her mother’s idle chatter distract her, but she had been waiting barely a candlemark before her father returned, with heavy footsteps and haunted eyes.

“They’ll send you north,” Withen said quietly. “Won’t they?”

Slumping, Lissa dropped her eyes to the floor. “Sooner or later.” Lord Marshal Reven had already floated that she was the best-placed commander to oversee the mercenary troops.

Withen said nothing, just glowered into his cup.

“Lissa,” he said suddenly, a long time later. “Your brother.”

Her throat locked. “What about Van?” she managed.

A vein pulsed in Withen’s forehead. “He thinks he’s not coming back.”

Ice flooded her gut. Van had been open with her, if not about the details, at least about the danger. _Liss, I hope I’ll see you again, but…this could be the last time._ His eyes had been dry, even when she picked him up and hugged him as tightly as she could. For once, she had been the only one weeping.

“Why do you think that?” she said, as neutrally as she could.

“You think I’m blind, girl? I’ve seen men ride out to battle expecting to die. I know the look. He was trying to make light of it, but, damn it, I know what his real mission is.”

Lissa said nothing. _You think you know._ It was so much more complicated than Father could conceive of.

Withen swiped at his nose. “I’m not meant to know,” he said gruffly. “Won’t speak of it, I swear.” He blinked hard. “Your mother has no inkling. She kissed him goodbye and told him to dress warmly. Thinks it’s all very exciting. It would break her heart… Damn it, I get Randi’s in a hurry. Still wish he’d given him a few more days.”

“Don’t know that it’d’ve made the goodbyes any easier. For anyone.”

“Maybe.” Her father’s dark eyes were on her, imploring. “He said he was glad we moved to Haven when we did. I said, so I was I. Liss, I should’ve…”

The liquor burning in her belly made her bold. “You should’ve told him how much you love him,” Lissa said harshly. “Both of you should have just damned _said_ it. Instead of talking around it like the idiots you are.”

A moment later, watching his eyes widen, she realized what she had said. “Father, I–”

“Don’t apologize.” Withen scowled. “I’m an old fool and a coward. Know that. Just, damn it, if I could’ve learned one last new trick…”

“Write him a goddamned letter. You could address it to the Guard-post up north.” Not that Lissa had the faintest idea if it would ever reach him, but. Confessions weren’t only for the recipient.

* * *

“So,” Jisa said, warming her hands on the heat-spell between them. “What’s your plan? Straight up the North Trade road will take three weeks if not longer, since you’re stuck at Melody’s pace.” The name Lady Treesa had chosen for Stef’s mare still jarred against her lips every time. “The weather should improve. We’re still not sure if it’s been interfered with, but either way we can’t move troops around in constant blizzards, so we’ve got two mages every day doing Web-work on it.” They had dropped all the non-urgent mage-work, and some that _was_ urgent by normal standards. Defenses on any border but the north just weren’t their top priority.

Beside her, Stef had finally stopped shivering, though he was still curled in a tight ball inside his cloak and an extra blanket, Vanyel’s arm around him. He hated the cold, and their afternoon of riding, though short and easy by Jisa and Van’s standards, had been brutal for him. Fortunately they had found an abandoned barn to hole up in, and Jisa had cast the White Winds _jesto-vath_ spell, even better than a weather-barrier. It was toasty now.

“I hadn’t considered that,” Vanyel admitted, one hand absently rubbing Stef’s back. “Three weeks is too long. Maybe we ought to Gate.” He grimaced. “Though I’d rather not give away our location that obviously. And I don’t have a Gate-terminus north of Polsinn.”

“Which isn’t even on the main road,” Stef pointed out. “There’s a dirt track from Devin to Westmark, I took it on my way back, but I don’t know if they would keep it cleared this time of year.”

“Right.” Jisa reached for Van’s saddlebags. “Where’s your map? Let’s do some thinking.” She had studied Valdemar’s geography in her classes, but memory was failing her, and she had never personally travelled north of Haven.

“Let me.” Vanyel unfastened the flap and dug around. “Here.”

Jisa slipped the scroll out of its leather case and unrolled it on the straw between them. “Hmm. You’ll want to pass through Waymeet, it’s the last good place to re-supply. The actual Border’s another, hmm, twenty miles north, and then it’s _another_ twenty miles to Crookback Pass. That just by itself is a week’s journey at this time of year.”

“That’s too long,” Stef muttered. “I don’t think we have that much time to spare – just, what _else_ are we supposed to do?”

Jisa opened her mouth, and then closed it. _I could get you north._ It would be a blind Gate again, but the map was a lot more detailed; surely she could get it closer than twenty miles.

It would mean revealing her ability to Gate without an archway. Something she would rather Leareth had no chance to find out.

Think. There had to be a way.

Concert Gates. She remembered how she and Brightstar had handed the spell back and forth. And Stef wasn’t a mage, but he was still Gifted, and lifebonded to Van…

“Stef,” she said. “What towns have you visited in the north?”

He blinked. “Um, the three that are off the main road. I skipped Waymeet because they already had a Bard there.”

Jisa consulted the map. “Langenfield, Greenhaven, and Havenbeck.” In her opinion, the Heralds had made some dubious choices when they extended the North Trade Road to cover the newly-annexed region. It ran due north in a straight line, and avoided some inconvenient obstacles, but with the price that none of the large existing settlements were actually _on_ it. The three towns Stef had mentioned were each a day’s ride off to the west. Linked to each other and to the main road by a dotted line, she saw, which represented a dirt track. Paving it was probably somewhere on the extremely long backlog of routine mage-work.

“You haven’t been to Berrybay?” It was the smaller sister town to Waymeet, ten miles east.

“No,” Stef confessed. “It was out of my way.”

Jisa ran her finger along the vellum. “How well do you remember Havenbeck?”

“I spent four days there.” Stef shifted, uncoiling and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Don’t see how that helps us. Van’s the one who can Gate, not me.”

Time to propose her idea. “I think maybe you can do it in concert. Stef, you know how to let Van into your mind. You’re lifebonded, on some level your minds overlap.” _The same garden._ “Then _you_ can hold the destination and help guide the spell.”

Both of them were staring at her.

“What?” She folded her arms. “You know concert-Gates are possible.”

“They were for Savil,” Vanyel said dully. “I never–”

“You hate Gating so you never tried. I’m pretty sure you can do it. I can project and keep you relaxed for it – I could even throw in some redirects to help. Oh, and I can help Stef get into deep enough rapport as well, if he has trouble.”

Silence.

Vanyel slowly lifted a hand and rubbed his eyes. “Jisa. Never stop surprising me. That might actually work.”

Her mind was already racing ahead. “Havenbeck is far enough from the Border, the Gate-energies there won’t give your exact location away to anyone north of it, and we haven’t got any Herald-Mages up there to ask questions. Oh, and if you’re using the Web anyway, maybe you can throw up a shield around your destination. It’ll still affect the energy-currents indirectly, but it won’t be a beacon for anyone nearby with mage-sensitivity.” Need’s attempt to do just that in k’Treva – in what had once been k’Treva – had worked fine.

“Can you _do_ that?” Vanyel said, dubious. “Doesn’t it block–”

“It doesn’t affect the juncture between our plane and the Void,” she pointed out. “You’re not going through ordinary space.” It might well be possible to block Gates, but Jisa was inclined to think, on reflection, that they had no proof of it. Gating hadn’t been blocked around k’Treva after all – it was just that none of the destinations they had tried still existed.

“Anyway. Stef, do they have a temple there?” It was part of the lore that Gating was safer and easier on hallowed ground. Jisa hadn’t understood _why_ until after her time at White Winds; they had explained how prayer and ritual, even by the un-Gifted, would eventually have the same result as a weak, permeable protective circle. Supposedly. She hadn’t actually been able to detect it when she checked the temples in Haven.

Stef stifled a yawn. “There was a temple to Kernos being built when I passed through, but it wasn’t finished. Oh, and there was a monastery, I guess. Dedicated to some foreign god that translates as the ‘Earth-Father’ in the local dialect. Matched with a nunnery of the Sky-Mother, but I wasn’t allowed to visit them. Anyway, the monks had a chapel and it had a nice big doorway.”

“Good, good.” Jisa tried to think. “Van, you can Farsee from a map, right? You could find the area so at least you have a visual sense of it to hold onto, and link with Stef’s memory for more detail.”

“I can try. It’s long-range. And it’s dark out.” Night had fallen candlemarks ago. “I suppose it’s still inside the Web, so I can distance-cast a mage-light and get a look.”

Jisa nodded. “I think it’s a good idea to do that tonight, so you can try the Gate in the morning when you’re fresh. Stef, when’s the best time to do it without being seen?”

“Right before dawn.” He yawned again. “Shouldn’t be anyone awake. The monks believe in a good night’s sleep.”

“How sensible of them. That’s in, hmm, about ten candlemarks?” The nights were very long at this time of year. “Perfect. Van can scout and then we can all get a good night’s sleep too.”

Vanyel nodded, seriously. “Thank you.”

Jisa ducked her head. “Anyway, once you’re there, the map says there’s a game-trail that cuts through directly to Waymeet. The locals subsist on winter hunting enough that it should have been used recently – you might have to clear it with magic so Melody can manage, but I don’t think you’ll get lost. Should be a two or three day ride. You’ll be camping rough, but you can put a weather-barrier on your tent.”

Focus on planning, and she wouldn’t have to think about what they were planning for. Therein lay a pit of bitter-tasting fear.

She might never see either of them again.

Jisa was grateful for a longer goodbye – that had been most of her justification for accompanying them, really, and the reason she had pushed Treven so hard on it – but she didn’t want to lay her feelings on Van on top of all his other burdens. _I won’t ask him to comfort me._ She could bear it. Somehow.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient, so have an extra bonus chapter!

Randi surveyed the two youthful faces in front of him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” Tashir stood erect and calm in his formal Whites; he evidently considered a meeting with the King worth dressing up for. Randi, who lay in his day-bed wearing a sleeping-gown, found it somewhat ironic.

Featherfire, standing next to Tashir with her eyes downcast, looked like a slender flower in her Tayledras-style clothing. She had let her hair, once dyed in patterns of green and brown, resume its natural colour, blue-black heavily streaked with white; next to her clear skin and fine, delicate features, it was a striking look.

“I realize we arrived in a bit of a hurry,” the young man went on. “And without discussing our plans with you. I would like your permission to stay in Haven. With all due respect, Jervis and Melenna are better at running the place that I am. Lineas-Baires will manage fine in my absence. Brightstar needs his sister–” he glanced sideways, “and Featherfire needs me.”

He took a slow, deliberate breath, and squared his shoulders. “And I would like you to consider sending us north when the time comes. We’re both strongly Gifted, even if neither of us is a mage. We work well as a team.” A crooked smile. “Fetching and Animal Mindspeech are both excellent ways to wreak havoc behind enemy lines.”

Featherfire lifted her head, something shifting in her face. Fear, defiance, something like hunger. When Randi blinked, the look was gone, her eyes once again on the floor.

“Thank you for telling me.” The words came by habit. “I need a moment to think.”

 _:Shavri?:_ She was by his side, her hand resting on his shoulder. Pouring her own strength into him, to keep him going one day longer.

_:He’s not wrong. Brightstar is a mess right now. And with Van and Stef gone, and Jisa away… He desperately needs support from people he trusts. It would take a weight off my mind if Featherfire were with him:_

Randi closed his eyes. _:We need him:_ It felt wrong, for that to be what sprang to mind; not concern for the lad’s wellbeing, but tallying up the numbers, weighing his value to them as one of so few trained Adepts. Set to the side of the gameboard for now, but if Leareth allowed them enough time, if Brightstar was physically and mentally ready to fight when the moment came, Randi would have no choice but to set him in play.

Shavri sent a wash of somewhat-unconvincing reassurance. _:Randi, I know. I hate it, I wish we could give him all the time he needs to heal, but…I think he can put himself back together enough to fight for us. Given what Leareth did to his home, he’s got to be very motivated:_

An uncomfortable thought. Revenge was a powerful drive, and a dangerous one as well. _:Noted:_ he sent. _:I’m inclined to agree that Lineas-Baires will manage, and they’re not our top priority:_

Randi brought his gaze back to the two youngsters – gods, they were so young, he knew Tashir was in his twenties now and no longer a boy but his mind struggled to believe it. “Permission granted,” he said quietly.

* * *

_:Your news is dire indeed:_ Gervase sent, sympathy in his creaky mindvoice.

Beside him, Alethra watched with silent, unreadable eyes that glinted in the candlelight.

“I’m sorry. We all hoped…” Jisa caught herself drooping, yet again, and dug her nails into her palms, fighting the exhaustion that weighted down her body and mind. 

They were in one of the huts, well insulated by a _jesto-vath_. Jisa’s Whites still felt unnatural against her skin. There had been no time for a formal graduation ceremony; Dara had just handed over the uniform at the end of her final briefing, minutes before she Gated out.

“We don’t have proof it was him,” she added. “And it doesn’t make any _sense,_ as a strategic move, so we have to be missing something. It…could be that we’re misreading the situation. That’s why my– why Herald Vanyel went north. In the meantime, though, we have officially declared war, and we’re moving our forces north.” Only to defend, not to bring the fight to Leareth. For now. If anything could provoke the Heralds and the Council to break with eight centuries of sacred precedent, it was this.

Jisa’s thoughts were already drifting again, as she warmed her hands over the fire between them. It was Arven’s name day. If the reason had been anything else, she would have been furious with Van for not waiting just one day.

 _:Your friend Brightstar:_ Gervase sent. _:It was his home that was destroyed. How does he bear such loss?:_

“Not well.” He might be mad at her for saying so, later, but it was true. “He’s a Healing-Adept, so the damage to the land from the Heartstone exploding made him ill, and he’s incredibly distraught.” She squirmed on the mat. “I’m worried about him, Gervase.”

 _:And so you wish not to dally here:_ Nictating membranes flashed over the aged _hertasi’s_ milky eyes. _:I do understand, child:_

He was silent for a moment. _:It is not to be decided in an instant:_ he went on finally, _:whether we might send aid, and in doing so make an exception to our usual neutrality in political conflicts. I must gather the elder Adepts and discuss:_ His wide nostrils flared. _:We will send an urgent call, tonight. I can promise you a decision in three days:_

It would have to do. “Thank you, Gervase. I appreciate it.” Then, despite her best efforts, she yawned.

 _:You are weary:_ One clawed hand moved stiffly to brush her shoulder. _:Rest, child:_

…Memory washed over her. Harvestfest, here, a year and some ago. Gervase, seized by a Messenger of some other Power. Words of prophecy still etched into her mind.

_Sister and brother. Precious children, born of power, raised in love. Darkness is coming. You will lose that which you need most. You will open a door to find only betrayal and pain._

She remembered Brightstar’s terrified eyes staring at her across a Gate. A door she had opened, and, indeed, found nothing but betrayal and pain on the other side…

Neither she nor Brightstar had spoken much about the prophecy, which in hindsight was very stupid, but Jisa had never been able to think of what to say, and had been relieved when Brightstar kept not bringing it up.

_You will stand at a crossroads, and find one another on opposite sides._

Something in her was crying out in refusal. _No, never._ It was impossible–

But it had been impossible that Leareth could get at k’Treva – that anyone could – and k’Treva was gone all the same.

_And yet, if it is all to end in fire and sacrifice, do not despair. Carry the light that your parents bestowed on you, and always remember what you are._

What did Jisa know of the rules here? Nothing, anymore.

* * *

“That which we feared has come to pass,” the Son of the Sun was saying, her gilt robes glittering as she moved her arm.

Somehow it had never occurred to Karis that the position could be held by a woman, though, really, why not? The high priestess was in her autumn years, stout and wrinkled with a broad face that reminded Karis of her own grandmother.

A hiss of something that might have been a gryphon’s laughter. “Sspeak for yoursself.” Skatashan pral Kav’a’la preened her neck-feathers. “I do not fear thiss madman.”

No, Karis thought, it was something other than fear that blazed in her yellow eyes. Not that she was particularly skilled at reading the expressions of gryphons, but she sensed anger, pride, and bloodthirsty anticipation. In the grip of strong emotion, Skatashan’s sibilant accent was much stronger.

 _I do not know that I like gryphons_ , Karis found herself thinking, not for the first time.

Skatashan, apparently, had finally conquered Rusalki pral Skyshaen in combat during the latest Games, and was now leader of the _hradurr,_ the wing of twenty gryphons representing all the districts of Iftel. It was a lucky coincidence, that she had already been in Kav’a’la, and Karis had been able to stay there while it was arranged for the spiritual and secular leaders to join the nation’s top military spokesperson.

“We are almost sure,” Karis said. “Proof is what we seek, and yet we could not afford delay.”

“That iss undersstood.” Skatashan’s taloned hind legs rapped on the marble floor. “Mysself, I have no doubtss.”

One of the elected leadership was saying something now; Karis couldn’t recall either her name or her rank, she found it very confusing to keep track of. And she was distracted.

She missed Arven. And feared for her. Had it been the right decision to leave her daughter in Haven rather than sending her back to Sunhame? It was safe enough, surely, and she could admit in her own mind that Valdemar’s Healers were much more skilled. One in particular.

And it meant that Arven had one parent nearby. Or two, depending how one counted it. Randi was her father in everything but flesh, and her beloved ‘Uncle Van’ could be with her as well.

Karis wondered what her councillors were thinking, right now. There had been no time to go back in person; she had simply sent a message with her personal seal, requesting that they begin preparing forces to aid their allies, though at that point the formal declaration of war hadn’t even been voted on yet. It was approved now; she had learned that much from her Herald-Mage escorts before leaving them behind in Sumpost to await her return.

_My Sunlord, please. What do You wish of Your daughter?_

Karis lacked even Sola’s cagey input. There had been no sign of the Suncat since she crossed the Barrier, though presumably she could cross it if she wished. Or if Vkandis wished. It seemed that her Sunlord was asking her to manage these negotiations alone.

“I understand that you need time to consider,” she said. “It is a weighty matter. I will wait.”

The Son of the Sun and the Speaker for the Assembly of Peoples shared a look, but said nothing.

“There iss no need,” Skatashan said. She stamped one foot heavily on the floor. “I sspeak for our forcess. We have trained all our livess for thiss moment. Would any but a coward turn from an ally in need? No! We will come. We will fight. We will win!”

* * *

“So that’s the state of things,” Dara heard herself say, as though from a long way off. “Only real update for you is Karis’ army. Her councillors want her there in person for a vote before they make it official, understandably, but they’re willing to gather the forces and prepare to cross. Her mages and elite units will be staging in Sunhame and crossing via the Gate; the cavalry is traveling overland.”

Treven nodded. Even he was starting to show the strain, youthful resilience or not; his crisp new Whites were still immaculate, but there were shadows under his eyes, matching the ones Dara saw every time she looked in a mirror.

A week. It felt like it had been closer to a year. What petty worries had been on her mind in the minutes before Savil’s death on the riverbank? Dara couldn’t remember.

“The only thing I haven’t made progress on is getting word to Kata’shin’a’in,” she admitted, shamefaced. Maybe it was an unreasonable weight to place on herself, but after she had straight-up asked Randi for his approval, it felt like she _had_ to figure out a way to do it, impossible or not.

And it felt right. Twice now, she had dreamed of the Plains, of the wind in her hair and the Clans riding in her wake. Neither she nor Rolan was sure it was Foresight, it didn’t quite have the usual vividness, but she wondered. “Damn it, I wish my _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ would show up again…”

“That’s the spirit warriors they have?” Treven said, curious. “Jisa was telling me about it.”

Dara blinked at him. “How does Jisa – oh, right, Van would’ve told her.”

“She said it was mostly Brightstar, actually.”

A pang of guilt. She hadn’t made it to see the young Healing-Adept in days. It was too depressing, if she was honest with herself – the last time, she’d had the misfortune to time her visit right after one of the young man’s sessions with Melody, and found him dissolved in tears.

He had to be lonely, surrounded by near-strangers, with only his sister to keep him company. She wasn’t sure if anyone had tried explaining to him where Van and Stef had gone, or why.

 _I wish I had seen k’Treva, just once._ She had heard so much about the place, and now it was too late.

Stay on task. “But he’s not…” She rubbed her eyes. “Do the Tayledras do that too? I suppose they were both the Kaled’a’in people originally.” Starwind and Moondance had never brought it up.

Treven’s eyebrows rose. “Did Van never mention the shaman?”

“What?” A tickle of memory. “Oh. Maybe. When I asked him why Brightstar was willing to leave k’Treva and come here.” It had been so baffling to her, confounding her understanding of how the Hawkbrothers worked. “There was a shaman who visited k’Treva, no? And…oh–”

Hope surged, unexpected, and it took her a moment to name it. The shaman had invited Brightstar to join the Shin’a’in people. _He might have another home waiting for him._ She was getting ahead of herself, though, there was a war to survive first–

Oh.

“Treven,” she said. “If Brightstar knows a shaman, can he – _oh_.” She brought a palm to her forehead. “I’m such an idiot. Of course Brightstar knows how to walk the Moonpaths, he taught Van.”

Treven looked like he wanted to say something and was holding his tongue with great difficulty.

Dara did not at all have the energy to decipher other people’s odd expressions. “Their shamans and Swordsworn can go there to talk to a _leshy’a Kal’enedral_. If they need advice. I _knew_ that, damn it.” No point in slamming herself over the head with it now. Move forward. “Unfortunately we don’t have Van, and Brightstar’s in no shape for it now, but if we give him a bit of time to recover… If he’s had some shaman’s training, I bet he knows how to call for one of the _leshy’a_. Maybe he can even get an actual shaman’s attention somehow.” She would rather pass the message to a living person rather than leave it up to the Goddess’ discretion.

 _I wonder if he could teach me too._ Damn it, but she could use advice. She wasn’t Shin’a’in, but the _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ had chosen her anyway, and maybe they would answer her again now.

Treven was chewing his lip – again, it seemed like he was deciding whether or not to speak.

“That’s a good idea,” he said finally. “He is getting stronger, physically. Maybe another week before he can use his Gifts.”

That was good news. _We need him._

* * *

The smear of woodsmoke on the horizon was the most beautiful thing Stef had ever seen.

It had been a four-day journey from Havenbeck to Waymeet, riding from dawn until well after nightfall; even on the first day, after the Gate, Van had belted himself into the saddle and napped, letting Yfandes guide the way and wake him when they needed his power to clear snow or debris.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been any _faster_ to backtrack to the main trade road and go from there, but it would surely have been less uncomfortable than slogging through deep snow on the narrow rutted trail. They had lost the path at one point, too, and endured candlemarks of hopeful guesswork and Farsight scouting before rediscovering it.

Today, they had been walking for the last three candlemarks, because Melody was starting to favour one leg. Van had checked it with his Healing-Sight, but his training with animals was insufficient to tell if anything was seriously wrong, and his Gift too weak to do much anyway.

Above their heads, denuded branches glittered with coatings of ice in the watery winter sun. The snows had stopped, someone must have finally succeeded at their weather-working, and the sky was clear. The breeze lifted a haze of snow into the air, golden in the late afternoon light.

He might have been enjoying the view more, Stef thought, if he hadn’t been half frozen, his eyes itchy and sore from the snow-glare, wheezing between chattering teeth and trying to ignore the stitch in his side, thirsty and desperately needing to take a piss at the same time. And the ice-capped mountains were picturesque, but also a reminder of exactly where they were headed.

 _I hate winter_. He was coming to hate a number of things. Sleeping in a tent and waking with stones digging into his back. Relieving himself in the snow. Monotonous meals of travel-bread and jerky. The complete lack of any bathing facilities. Chilblains on his hands that made it impossible to play his lute. Even his voice was hoarse just from breathing the cold dry air all day. He lacked the energy to worry about Leareth today; it was all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

_I want to go home._

But Vanyel was trusting him to bear it, and so he would. _I won’t slow you down, love._ It had been a humiliating realization that despite being twice his age, Van was fitter and had the greater stamina. Stef had only stubbornness on his side.

When they finally emerged from the trees, Stef was tempted to fall to his knees and kiss the paved road. He had never been so grateful for something as simple as a flat surface to walk on.

Van turned, smiling. “Nearly there, love.”

Damn him, he was barely out of breath. Windburned cheeks and bloodshot eyes, uneven stubble around his jaw, his silver-white hair an impressive mop of snarls – and he was still gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.

A moment later, hoofbeats sounded from around a bend, and Van pulled the hood of his cloak over his head; Jisa had obtained good fur-lined cloaks for both of them, in neutral brown tones. She had even found winter riding leathers that were approximately Stef’s size, and a lot more practical for hard use than his Scarlets, currently folded in Melody’s saddlebags.

…One more corner, and suddenly the town was there, sprawled around them. Children’s voices sounded from somewhere nearby. Stef could smell smoke and meat cooking.

Van kept his head down, and walked fast. Yfandes, trailing behind them, was being remarkably unobtrusive.

 _:I’d rather not draw attention:_ Vanyel sent. _:Doubt anyone here would recognize you by sight, but they might recognize me:_ A pause. _:So I’d rather we don’t stay in the inn tonight:_

Stef’s heart sank. He had been looking forward to a real bed for _days_.

A soft chuckle. _:Oh, no, I don’t mean that we’re roughing it again. Thought we could swing by the Healers’ station, since we need someone to see to Melody’s foot before she goes lame. I trust their discretion much more than an innkeeper I’ve never met. Reckon they might have a room to spare for us:_

“Herald Vanyel.” The Healer facing them looked at least seventy, kindly nut-brown eyes staring out from leathery wrinkles, though her snow-white hair was still thick and her forearms muscled. She had a nice voice, Stef thought vaguely, husky and rich. _I wonder if she sings._

“Roa.” Van ducked his head. “Didn’t know you were up here. Can’t be an easy posting.”

“Which is exactly why. I’m the best we have.” She said it matter-of-factly, with neither pride nor bashfulness. Her eyes fixed on Stef. “Who’s the lad?”

 _:We can trust her:_ Vanyel sent, before Stef could open his mouth. His eyes flashed from side to side, checking that they were alone. “Roa, meet Bard Stefen. My lifebonded.”

“Goodness.” Her startled look quickly smoothed into a broad smile. “Congratulations! Bard Stefen, it’s an honour to meet you. I’ve heard your songs.”

“You have?” Stef croaked, trying to focus on her face and avoid swaying on his feet. His teeth were chattering again; the drafty entrance-hall was warmer than outside, but not by much.

“Of course I have. You’re a rising star. The King’s personal Bard.” Her lips pressed together. “Reckon I’d best not ask what brings you out here. Given the news we just got, though…”

Vanyel didn’t answer, just caught her eye and nodded tightly. “We need somewhere to stay,” he said a moment later. “Discreetly. And I’d appreciate if someone could have a look at Stef’s mount. She’s been limping.”

“Of course.” Her eyes narrowed. “Best start out with a hot bath and some food. I’ll show you to our bathhouse.”

Stef couldn’t help the beatific smile that escaped and spread across his face. Roa noticed, and winked.

A candlemark later, seated at one of the long trestle tables in the Healers’ dining-hall, Stef was trying very hard not to fall asleep in his soup. After days of stale travel-bread, it was the best thing he had ever tasted, and he was ravenous, but he was so _tired_.

“Anyone sitting here?” A woman’s voice, high-pitched and creaky with age.

Stef couldn’t even find the will to lift his head.

“No, you go right ahead,” he heard Vanyel say.

The rustle of robes, wood creaking and settling. “I do love it when we have visitors. Especially famous ones – shh, don’t worry, I won’t say a word.” A chuckle. “I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Herald Vanyel. Don’t recognize your friend, though.”

Stef dragged his head up, and found himself looking into a pair of beady dark eyes, set in a small, gamine face surrounded by wispy white curls. The face belonged to one of the tiniest women he had ever seen – standing, he guessed she would only come up to his shoulder. She wore Healers’ robes – no, not quite, the green was trimmed in yellow.

“Bard Stefen,” he said, holding out his hand.

She gripped his arm, surprisingly firmly. “I’m Agnetta. Head of the Mindhealers’ division here. Pleasure to meet both of you, though I confess I would rather it was under better circumstances.”

The Healers had already received word of the war declaration, Stef had quickly gathered. He recognized the flavour of those hooded looks and whispers.

“Melody spoke highly of you,” Vanyel said. “You’ve been out here, what, three years now?”

“Coming on four. We’re finally starting to get everything in order – oh, thank you, Damen.”

Stef twisted his head around. A boy of seven or eight, dressed in the green-trimmed brown that marked one of the un-Gifted trainees, had just set down a cup of tea.

“That’s lovely.” Agnetta brought it to her lips and sipped, smiling. “Just the way I like it. Damen, why don’t you ask our guests if they would like some too?”

But the boy had gone rigid, staring past Stef. Straight at Vanyel.

“You,” he said. “You’re _him._ From the songs.”

Feeling the wash of embarrassment along their bond, Stef barely managed not to snicker.

 _:Don’t you dare:_ Vanyel sent. _:Perfect. Just perfect:_

The boy scuffed his feet. “You’re here for the war. To fight Master Dark.”

“Damen!” Agnetta said sharply. “You know we don’t talk about–”

“But Agnetta, it’s _him_. Demonsbane.”

“I have an actual name, you know.” Van spoke gently. “My friends call me Van.”

The child ignored the aside. “You’ll kill him?”

Vanyel opened his mouth, and then closed it when Agnetta laid a hand on his arm. He brought both hands to his temples.

“I don’t know,” he said, after a long pause. “I’ll – do whatever I have to do, for the Kingdom.”

The boy stared at him, wide-eyed, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Milk or sugar?” he said abruptly.

“What – oh, in tea? Neither, please. Stef will have sugar.”

The child bobbed his head and raced away.

Agnetta leaned in, whispering. “Never could break him of the habit of waiting on people. Just go along with it. He’s probably going to bring you a biscuit too.”

Catching Vanyel’s eye, Stef tapped his temple. _What was that all about?_

 _:Something I wish someone had thought to tell me:_ Discomfort in his mindvoice. _:Apparently he was rescued from a bandit keep in the north, shortly after the annexation. They were keeping him as a slave. He was mistreated very badly. And the bandits in question claimed to work for ‘Master Dark’:_

Stef shivered. _Do you think he was really giving them orders?_

A sigh. _:Who can say? If so, he hadn’t contacted them directly in decades. But they had some kind of fallback spell on their keep. Blew the whole place to bits when we marched on them, killed two of our Herald-Mages. Not something any bandits I’ve met would lay themselves:_ Vanyel broke the link, and leaned past him, lowering his own voice. “Agnetta, how did he end up _here_?”

“He has a tendency to glue himself to people, and I was nearby, I suppose. He’s a bit simple, and unfortunately he’s still afraid of his own shadow, but he’s quite a sweet child. Give him a straightforward task and he’ll put his heart and soul into it.” She lifted one spindly arm. “It’s not entirely healthy – he’s desperate to please everyone, and I know where _that_ comes from – but this may be the best place for him.”

“I’d have thought he wouldn’t want to be anywhere near the war,” Vanyel murmured back.

“So did I.” A sigh. “Tried to talk him into going down to Haven with the other dependents, but he dug his heels in. Said I needed him, and who would bring me breakfast otherwise. Wouldn’t budge. I didn’t have the heart to keep arguing.” She sighed, staring into the distance. “I know you can’t tell us anything. Just…good luck, all right? Godspeed to both of you, wherever you’re going.”

Stef wanted to…he didn’t know what. Make a promise of some kind. To win. To try. To–

There weren’t any promises he could make.

Agnetta turned, a smile dimpling her withered cheeks. She winked. “Also, congratulations. Melody mentioned… I’m happy for you, is all.”

Vanyel had gone very tense, his face a controlled mask.

“And now I’ve embarrassed you. I’m very sorry. Let’s just eat our soup.”

* * *

Shavri hesitated in the doorway. “Oh. Melody, am I interrupting?” The Mindhealer was seated next to Brightstar’s bed, robes straining over her wide hips. “I can come back later.”

“No, no. We’re almost done. Come on in.”

Brightstar was sitting up against a stack of pillows, red-eyed, arms wrapped around his knees. His unwashed, tangled hair hung in stringy tendrils, half covering his face.

“Go on, Clara,” Melody said. “Right…there. Gently, now.”

Presumably she was indicating something they could both See; Shavri didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. The girl sitting opposite her looked about fourteen or fifteen, and had her grandmother’s eyes, green and piercing, her features a more delicate echo of Melody’s.

“Brightstar, think about the trees again,” Melody said. “That’s it. Imagine you’re there. Center and ground. And…we’re done.” She turned to smile at her granddaughter. “That was very good, Clara.”

Shavri looked around for an extra chair. _:Melody, how is he?:_ Six days, now, since they had learned of k’Treva’s demise. A week since it had all started, which felt impossible; it should have been months.

It felt wrong, to call Savil’s death a beginning. _This is the end._ The thought rose, not even bitter, just a matter-of-fact observation.

 _:Up and down:_ Melody answered. _:I gave it a go taking down my blocks this morning, and he did all right while I was there, but he falls apart the minute he’s alone. So it seems we’re doing this in stages:_

“Brightstar,” she added, out loud. “How does that feel?”

His eyes stayed fixed on his knees. “Still hurts,” he mumbled finally, in accented Valdemaran. “Could you make it…stop…?”

“I’m afraid not. I told you already how memories work, and why we mustn’t keep steering your mind away from it. You’ll be able to think about it, and it _will_ hurt, but if you start getting too overwhelmed, the calming-loop will pull you out of it and help you anchor.” A pause. “Shavri’s here to see you now.” _:Thank you:_ the Mindhealer added privately. _:He really needs someone with him – not a stranger, I mean, someone he trusts – and Featherfire is worn out:_

Brightstar lifted his head, a hint of life coming into his expression when he saw her.

 _:I can’t stay that long:_ Andrel had asked her to assess his condition; Dara had been hassling him, asking when Brightstar would be strong enough to use his Gifts, and the older Healer had confessed he had no idea why it was taking the youngster so long to recover. She could cram it in – Randi had Gemma with him, and Alia had mastered painblocking as well and could trade off – but her lifebonded was supposed to be meeting with Treven in a candlemark, and neither of the other Healers could do it unless he was in a light trance, which wasn’t ideal for conversations.

 _Damn it, Stef, why did you have to leave?_ A pointless loop of resentment.

Melody’s chin dipped forward. _:I understand. Anything helps:_ A pause. _:If you notice him getting upset, remind him to think about the trees. It’s a simple trance-exercise visualization that he learned early on in his training, and I’ve added some strong redirects:_

Shavri nodded. She had even understood most of that.

“Brightstar,” she said out loud, crossing the room and bending to lower the bedrail. “How’s your head?” Without thinking, she had slipped into Tayledras.

He thought about it for a moment, then lifted a hand to his forehead. “Pain is not so bad. Feels…stuffy.”

“Mmm.” Shavri sat down on the side of the bed, taking his hand and leaning into her Healing-Sight. “And your stomach? Andy tells me you didn’t want to eat this morning. Are you still feeling sick?”

“Not today.” He blinked a few times, but didn’t go on.

“Is it because you were upset?” Shavri guessed. “Brightstar, being sad can make you lose your appetite, but you need to eat.”

He scrunched up his nose. An expression that reminded her far too much of Moondance. “The food is bad.”

“I see. You’re not the first patient to complain. What would you prefer?”

He closed his eyes, considering it. “…Sweet-berries,” he offered finally.

“Brightstar, I’m sorry, I don’t think they grow here.” She had only ever seen the juicy dark-purple berries in the Vale. “And it’s the middle of winter. We don’t have much fresh fruit. I can get you an apple from the cellars, or some dried fruit, if you’ve got a hankering for sweets. I could go look in the hothouse if you want, but they mostly have medicinal herbs.”

Brightstar, blinking rapidly, didn’t answer.

“What is it, _ke’chara_?” Shavri brushed a greasy lock of hair back form his forehead.

He dodged away from her, rolling his eyes, with a very teenage sigh that reminded her she was, after all, speaking to an eighteen-year-old. “Nothing.”

She took a deep breath and let it out. Frustrating as it was, in a way it was reassuring that he was being stubborn and difficult like a normal youngster. “I’ll make sure you get some better food for lunch, but you need to promise to eat it. And I want you to get out of bed.”

He scowled at her. “Too tired.”

And cranky to go along with it, apparently. She couldn’t blame him. “I know. I do want you to listen to your body, but you need to push yourself a bit to get your strength back. You’ve lost a lot of muscle. It’s no fun but that’s how it goes.” She glanced back, making sure that Melody had taken her granddaughter out of the room. “Your father could tell you. He’s had a lot of practice.”

“He cannot,” Brightstar said, glaring at her. “He is not here.”

She winced. “Brightstar, _ke’chara,_ I’m sorry he had to go, and so is he.” She met his silver eyes. Vanyel’s eyes. _Damn it, Van, you had to leave me this mess._ It was unfair to blame him, but right now she couldn’t help being petty; the best she could do was keep it inside her head.

The young man looked away, folding his arms. Shavri waited, using the time to run her Sight over him in more depth. The diffuse inflammation throughout his body was calming, and the physical signs of backlash were almost gone; from what her Healing-Sight revealed, his aura was already brighter and clearer.

“I know where Father went,” Brightstar said finally, his voice brittle. “To fight him.” His face spasmed. “I ought be there. At his side. I cannot…”

“Shh, hey, no one’s expecting you to fight right now.” Not yet. “We just want you to get well.”

His jaw worked. “I am weak. No use.”

“Not true.” She reached for his shoulder. “Brightstar–”

He twisted away, slamming his fist against the bedrail, nearly hard enough to splinter the wood. Shavri flinched. _Ouch_.

Before she could react, he turned back to her, his eyes empty. “I wish him dead. I would kill him with my own hands. Slowly. I would cut off his legs and then his arms, and then cut out his eyes, and his tongue…”

“Brightstar, please,” Shavri said faintly.

“I wish him to _hurt_.” Tears were springing in his eyes now. “To know fear. Not a clean death by fire. He does not deserve that! And I would follow his spirit to the Void and I – I would find his hiding-place, I would cut it to shreds, I would be the hawk and destroy him with my talons and _eat_ him, and, and–”

Shavri forced herself to reach out and take his wrists. “And it still wouldn’t be enough,” she said, as gently as she could. “I know, Brightstar. I’ve wanted someone dead before.” _I’ve made it happen._ Quick and clean, but she was still a murderer. “It won’t bring your parents back. No matter how much you hurt him, it won’t undo what he’s done.”

He held himself rigid, his hands trembling in hers.

 _What am I supposed to say?_ Melody wasn’t here to guide her.

“I know you’re angry,” Shavri said softly. “So am I. And I’m sad, and scared. But we mustn’t let that control us. We have to try our best to do the right thing.”

Brightstar’s face crumpled, the tears spilling down his cheeks. He mumbled something garbled.

“…Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I want to go home.” A sob shook his shoulders. “Shavri, I want to go home.”

“I’m sorry. I know.” She reached for him, pulling his head in to her chest. “Brightstar, hey, I know it’s scary being sick like this, and in a strange place too.” Unlike Van, he hadn’t experienced serious illness or debility before, and it had to come as a shock. _All young men think they’re invincible._ Being so dependent on others would be galling for anyone at his age, but especially a mage, used to wielding incredible power.

“It will get easier,” she murmured. “I promise.”

* * *

“This war of yours.” Tadrall, for once, wasn’t smiling. Worry didn’t suit his plump face at all, Lissa thought; it made him look constipated. “This ‘Leareth’. Sounds to me like he’s no ordinary warlord.”

“No,” Lissa admitted. She sat upright in the chair, alert; it was a lot harder to slouch in formal, tailored Guard-blues. Worth it for the first impression it made, though, even if few of the locals would recognize the insignia that marked her rank.

“Sounds to me like a zealot,” the innkeeper said. “But not a madman. I have to admit, a sane idealist is a lot more frightening.”

She bent her head in acknowledgement. “No one denies that.”

Tadrall stroked the rim of his cup. “A man’s got to wonder. Exactly what sort of ‘warning’ did you have?”

How much could she tell him? The old innkeeper was sharp; he didn’t miss much.

Well, it wasn’t like it was secret knowledge back in Valdemar. Not anymore. Lissa sighed. “Foresight. A vision of the future.”

“I see.” His eyes fixed on her. “And, pray tell me, does this vision show you winning?”

 _It shows my brother sacrificing himself to buy us time._ And it was long out of date. “Well, you must know how Foresight is. Cryptic and less helpful than one would wish. It doesn’t show us _losing_.”

The man leaned back, buttons straining over his round belly. “Well. I did take your coin, girl, and your King’s bond. And I did as I said – I can get you a thousand troops here in a week. Hells, two thousand. Just, makes a man uneasy. Sending his folk off to fight a dark mage who can take on the Hawkbrothers and win, and without the faintest idea of his location, troop numbers, or intentions.”

“We’ve got a lot more than the ‘faintest idea’,” Lissa shot back. “Just not certainty. Foresight isn’t immutable, and…he knows that we know. A sensible commander would take that and try to surprise us.”

“I gather he already did.”

“You could say that.” Surprise was one word. Complete incomprehension was another. “We don’t know what he’s playing at.”

“Could be exactly his goal.” A thin, humourless smile. “Send you running scared.”

She closed her eyes. “Well, I won’t deny we’re scared, but we have no intention of running.”

A long moment later, she felt his touch on her shoulder. “Well put, girl. Never let the enemy get inside your head. You’re a fine commander. A tribute to your kingdom.”

“Thank you.” She lifted her head, managing a smile, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

Tadrall was looking thoughtful, now. “A man can’t help reading between the lines,” he said quietly. “This Leareth is damned good, and ruthless, and you haven’t said what but there’s got to be something he wants awful bad. So I’m asking myself. What’s the chances he stops with Valdemar?”

“Low,” Lissa said, matching his solemn tone. She hadn’t wanted to be the first to bring it up. Not when Tadrall was clearly spooked already.

The man looked away. “I’m no educated man, but I’ve read my histories. He’s coming for Valdemar now. A man could look at all those miles on the map, and say it’s not his to worry about, let foreigners defend themselves – and quite a few lords have come to regret that, a year or ten later. A zealot emperor doesn’t stop with one conquered nation. Seems to me that if you’re telling the truth, and I can’t see why you’d lie, then this pass of yours is the best place to make a stand.”

Lissa studied the grain of the tabletop. “I think so, yes.”

“I’m not blind. I’ve got my chance to turn the tide, maybe, and I’d rather not be the man in the history-book whose short-sighted folly doomed his homeland.” He turned back to her, a brief smile flickering and vanishing. “Besides which, I don’t break my word. You’ll have your thousand fighters. Given the circumstances, though, they may want their gold up-front.” A knowing look. “The losing side rarely makes good on its debts.”

She had been anticipating that. “A quarter in hard coin on signing the contract. Another quarter in bonds, redeemable at our Border. The rest on completion.”

He gave her a look of respect, before his eyes shifted downward. “That’s a fine blade you have there. Family heirloom?”

Lissa followed his gaze to Need, currently scabbarded and resting on her lap. “Not exactly.”

“May I have a look?”

She hefted the blade. “If you like.” _I really wish you could talk to me._ Need liked Tadrall, though, she thought – she had gotten a sense of grudging approval. That had to be a good sign.

* * *

Sitting at Brightstar’s bedside, Jisa could barely keep her eyes open. Proficient with Gates or not, it had been effortful, holding the spell long enough to get, at the final count, just under sixty White Wind graduates through. Less the length of time it took, more the energy it drained from her with each person who crossed. And then she had needed to introduce them to Treven and the rest of the Senior Circle, and get them set up with talismans against the _vrondi._ There weren’t enough for all of them; Jisa had never dreamed they would have so many volunteers, though only eighteen were Adepts…

 _Only._ She would have laughed at herself if she’d had the energy. Until today, there had been exactly _three_ Adepts in all of Valdemar _._ Four if you counted Need. And that number was by White Winds standards; by Valdemaran reckoning, a massive thirty-three of the arriving mages had Adept-potential Gifts.

She had finally managed to hand the new guests off to Dara and Treven, made her escape, and dragged herself to the House of Healing.

Physically, her brother looked better. To her Sight, though, his sleeping mind set off every alarm. Before, the garden that was him had been lush, wild, but orderly in its own way, organized by hedgerows that weren’t tall enough to form real walls, the wildest and most exuberant growth confined to a couple of spots but all of it green and abundant. Joy and playfulness that he had never needed to hide, but that never got in the way of responsibility either. No trees. Brightstar had never needed a single pillar to guide him. He knew what he was.

Now, one of those vibrant overflowing patches was gone entirely – not down to bare rock like Starwind, but as though flattened by high winds, vines crushed and snapped, now withered and brown. The storm had passed through the orderly part as well, tearing apart the hedges, scattering them into fragments. Nothing had escaped totally intact, but the least-damaged places were a single corner of the orderly area; loyalty, Jisa thought, presumably his devotion to his surviving friends and family; and the other overgrown spot, his curiosity for all things magical, his impulsive defiance of all limits and relentless competitiveness.

Nearby, scaffolding it, there was a part that had been small and dim before, not confined but not especially necessary, now growing to fill the empty spaces – but growing twisted and crooked on a broken scaffolding.

Rage.

Even combined, the arrangement wasn’t especially stable; she could See at a glance that Brightstar’s sense of self was holding together by a bare thread. There were signs of Melody’s work everywhere, patching the shattered hedgerows with redirects, steering thought-pathways away from the rage-and-defiance and towards the love-for-his-friends. There were still traces where the worst-damaged places had been entirely barricaded off, but Melody must have taken down all of those blocks.

Jisa folded away her Sight. It was disrespectful to stare at his mind when he hadn’t given her permission, and her head was starting to ache.

A few minutes later, Brightstar stirred. “Who…?” His eyes flickered open. “Jisa?” A real smile, even if it was brief and strained. “You came back.”

“I did.” She slid the chair closer and held out her hand. “Sorry it took ages. Turns out getting fifty-eight mages from all over Rethwellan, Jkatha, and Ruvan to one place is a lot of work. But they came, Brightstar. They’re going to help us fight.” Watching the endless line of them file through her Gate, for the first time she had felt real hope.

“Good work.” Another momentary smile, this one sadder and fiercer. “Sister, I am proud of you.”

“It wasn’t actually that hard to convince them,” she admitted. “Gervase took me seriously from the beginning. He had a hunch, I think. Maybe the weird Foresight thing.”

How much of the prophecy had already come to pass? _You will lose that which you need most._ For Brightstar, k’Treva. Y _ou will open a door to find only betrayal and pain._ A door, or the metaphorical door that was a Gate…?

No point speculating. Whatever happened, she would survive it. Somehow.

 _Carry the light that your parents bestowed on you, and always remember what you are._ Words of encouragement and hope, directly from some deity, and she didn’t understand how or why – or have any reason to trust that Power – but it still gave her courage.

Brightstar was coming across a lot better than she had expected, given what his mind Looked like right now. “Can you use Mindspeech yet?” she said.

 _:For a time:_ His mindvoice was weirdly uneven, maybe just because he was out of practice. _:You wish to say a thing privately, sister?:_

 _:Yes:_ She squeezed his hand. _:I’ve been spending ages in the Void looking for his stupid soul-shelter. I keep feeling like I’m close – I swear there’s something there, at the center of that weird web-thing we’ve seen – but I just can’t get the pattern in my head enough to follow it. I know you can’t help me yet, but I wondered if you had advice. If you know any spells for tracking or finding things:_

A pause. _:There are spells to find people:_

 _:Right, the one we learned. But that needs you to have still-living blood from their body:_ And they weren’t looking for Leareth’s physical form at all. _:Can it be adapted, do you think? I’m not as good at modifying spells on the fly as you. But, I mean, it’s a spell that he cast, and we have other artifacts that we know he made. If you could replace the life-energies signature with that, and search the Void for anything that matched it…:_

 _:I will think on it:_ The strain in his mindvoice was redoubling.

Jisa dropped the link. “I don’t want to wear you out. And I’m ready to go fall on my nose. But let’s talk soon.”


	9. Chapter Nine

Randi lifted his head. “Oh, it’s you. Please tell me you have good news.”

Dara’s smile was tired and perfunctory. “Start with the good. No sign of his damned army. We’ve got over a thousand troops concentrated in Waymeet already, and a whole company right in front of where the pass is. We’re making plans to send some White Winds mages over there, to have a go getting through the illusion-coverage Van told us about.”

Randi winced. Damn it, at any other time, Brightstar would have been the ideal candidate to go, but he was still far from well.

Dara’s brow wrinkled. “The Icefoxes recruited some local mountain-folk as guides – a Herald questioned them under Truth Spell, we know they’re trustworthy and not his agents. They’ve been up and down the old goat-trail that used to be Crookback Pass, and haven’t seen anything on the other side.”

Odd. More nerve-racking than reassuring, unfortunately; maybe it was a weak hint that Leareth wasn’t marching on them after all, but given all the rest, it was much more likely that he was just planning to cross somewhere else. Somewhere they weren’t guarding against.

Dara’s secretive smile spoke of something more than routine news.

“And?” Randi said expectantly.

It widened to a grin. “Nani and Need just used the communication-spell to contact Jisa. Couldn’t hold it long enough for a detailed report, but, seems our ever-talented General Lissa finagled contracts with a full dozen of the best mercenary companies Jkatha has to offer.” A pause. “However, they want another three to five days.”

“Why?” She should have had nearly a week already.

“Most of their people and gear are at their winter barracks, and they need time to stage in Mournedealth. They generally don’t take winter contracts at all. But they’re making an exception. Seems Tadrall really did pull strings for us. It’s going to cost us an awful lot of gold, but you’ll have your extra troops, Randi. Should be about sixteen hundred.” A pause. “And, yes, this time we got the Silver Dragons.”

 _I should be glad._ Randi couldn’t muster any emotion. “Good, good. Transport?”

“Need thinks they can Gate to Sunhame in a single hop. Nani’s used their permanent terminus before, and the Heartstone there means that once it’s up, it’ll barely drain her and she can hold it however long they need.”

Randi nodded tightly. “I suppose we’ll sort out their logistics along with the damned Sunhame army.” It would be a strain on both cities; neither were built to quarter so many troops. Close to seven thousand even before factoring in whatever forces Rethwellan could lend. “How many mages?”

“I didn’t get an exact count, but most companies have two, and the best have four or five. I’d estimate fifty or so. Mostly Master-level.”

“Noted.” _I don’t think we’ve ever had this many mages inside our borders._ The _vrondi_ had to be baffled. Poor Sandra had been tasked with teaching some of the White Winds mages how to build more of the talismans that would ward off their watchful eyes. They hadn’t actually complained, apparently their school of magic worked regularly with elementals, but the Rethwellani army mages and the mercenaries would be less prepared.

Dara was still grinning. “What?” Randi muttered, suspicious. “You look like a cat in cream. Got more for me?”

“Word from the Mindspeech-relay half a candlemark ago.” She was bouncing on her heels, vibrating with anticipation. “From Sumpost. One of our coded messages, so it wasn’t very detailed, but Karis is back on our side of the Barrier, and…” a dramatic pause, “she succeeded. They’re coming.”

Randi’s heart double-thumped in his chest. “Dara, that’s…incredible…”

His head reeled, vision swimming.

 _:Steady, Chosen:_ Sondra sent, whickering behind him; a moment later he felt her blowing at his hair. Shavri’s hand was on his forehead as well, her strength flowing into him like cool water – and he was a broken vessel, spilling it uselessly away into nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Dara said, contrite. “I shouldn’t’ve startled you.” 

It was so stupid. Lately, any shock tended to bring him to a near-faint, even if it was the good kind of surprise. Randi focused on taking slow deep breaths, waiting for his pulse to slow. “No, no. I’m fine.” He hoped his voice sounded more convincing to her. “That’s excellent to hear. How about Rethwellan? Anything?”

“Nothing yet, but our agreement was that they weren’t to use the teleson for routine updates, given the message-length limitation on their code. No news is good news.” A grimace. “Makes me wish we could use that White Winds spell Jisa told me about. The Pool of Imaging. That’s like a signal-flare as well, but at least the message itself can’t be intercepted. Trouble is it needs an Adept who knows the spell on both ends, it’s incredibly draining, and it’s finicky. Need never got it. Savil did, but…” She trailed off.

That would leave Van, Jisa, and Brightstar, none of whom were available to man either end of a relay.

And…oh! “Dara, does it make sense to send a couple of our new White Winds people to manage communications? Or have them pass a message to someone still in Rethwellan? They’ve got plenty of Adepts, and we could guard both ends of the relay, minimize the risk to them.”

“I’ll consider it.” Dara raked a hand through her short hair. “We’re not in doubt that they’ll send aid. It’s literally in our treaty.”

“Yes, but Lythiaren may have some opinions around us hammering out that contract when we knew what was coming, and _they_ didn’t. Not exactly fair-minded of us.”

Alarm in Dara’s eyes. “You don’t think she’ll–”

“Back out? No. She’ll play the game honourably, but she _will_ play it, and try very hard for the best deal. Which adds delay. We don’t just need to know that they’re coming at all, we need to know how many and when.”

Dara lifted her slate and scribbled something on it. “I can ask the Horn end of the relay to reach out, and have something for you by tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” He blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog. “Brightstar?”

“Up and walking now. And he’s more, er, coherent, now that Melody has all the blocks off. He can Mindspeak, but his reserves are in terrible shape – apparently a serious magical injury and then barely eating for a week will do that – and he’s leaving his mage-gift alone for a bit longer.” A pause. “I asked him about our plan with the Moonpaths yesterday. He thinks he can try it in a couple of days.”

“Sounds fine.” Some part of Randi wanted to protest, press her to do it sooner – they might be running out of time – but he resisted. “Anything else from the Icefoxes?”

“Like I said, they hadn’t seen a sign of his army. They sent a group past the mountains. No report back.”

They had no guarantee that the mercenaries who had volunteered would even come back alive. “Hmm. Any trouble with our White Winds visitors?”

“No. They’re wonderful guests. I’ve got Jisa in charge of organizing them, with a bit of help from Tamara.”

So that was what was keeping his daughter so busy; he had seen her only in snatches. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Her Gift is meant to be–”

“I know.” Dara sighed. “It’s a risk, but, Randi, we don’t have anyone else in a position to do it. Not with Brightstar still recovering. They trust her. I’ve asked her to be very discreet – she’s only meeting with them in private Work Rooms, and making sure no one sees her on the way.”

Randi wanted to ask after Van, whether they had news, but he already knew the answer. No Death Bell. Yet. That was all they could know. “I think that’s all my questions. Dara, you’re doing wonderfully. Listen, I…don’t think I can manage meeting Joshel about the treasury budget. I’m sorry.” He always hated to cancel meetings, but just staying awake was hard enough today; looking at endless tables of numbers felt impossible.

Damn it, they were a fortnight into the war and he was already falling apart.

“Don’t be.” Dara’s hand brushed his arm. “Randi, you’re holding all of this together. Trev is bearing up well, but only because he has you as a backstop – you do such an incredibly good job with him, you know.”

Randi winced. She…wasn’t wrong, but it still felt like _something_ was badly wrong with the entire setup, such that him making judgement calls when he could barely think was still better than the alternatives. _I don’t know how much longer I can do it for._

* * *

Dara stumbled into the office and pulled the door shut behind her. Her knees felt weak, barely supporting her, and her mouth was dry. “Trev, you…won’t believe…”

Rolan hung in her mind, his blue light flooding into her. _:Steady, Chosen:_

The heir was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room and taking her elbow. “Dara, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What is it?”

“You have to see this.” She let him guide her to a chair, and then held up the envelope, loose between her hands, flap hanging open from the broken seal. “It’s safe to touch. First thing I checked.”

“What? Why…” Treven trailed off, and reached to take it from her. He made a face as his fingers noted its texture, but said nothing, just tipped its contents out onto the desk.

It wasn’t paper or vellum; it was the same odd, waxy-sheened material they had seen in Urtho’s Tower, rag-paper treated with resin. The seal was black, stamped with an odd, stylized symbol that Dara hadn’t recognized until she read the letter inside.

Treven lifted the topmost sheet, his eyes flashing back and forth. “Oh,” he breathed. His gaze returned to her, a mask of perfect courtesy. Which meant he was as shocked and confused as she was. “Dara. When and how did this arrive?”

“Candlemark ago. Palace mews.”

Comprehension, dawning. “One of his _nalaar_.”

“Have to assume so. I didn’t actually see the creature, it dropped the message and left, but the falconer described it to me.” The man had been very surprised when she immediately corralled him away from the envelope resting on his desk, and had Rolan arrange to summon Sandra, who had checked it thoroughly for traps, both mage-work and chemical in nature. It had come up clean, but even so she had taken it to the stillroom at Healers’ to open it.

Treven blinked, then returned to the paper, and this time he read it out loud. It was written in perfect Valdemaran script.

“A message for King Randale of Valdemar. I have observed the redeployment on your Border, and my spies have ascertained that there was an attack in Haven which resulted in the death of a Herald-Mage. I cannot blame you for ascribing it to my work, nor for the precautions you take, and yet I would swear to you, by every star in the sky, that I was not responsible. I have made no decision to betray your Kingdom, and it seems likely that some third power wishes ruin on both of us.

“I am aware that it is difficult to prove a negative. However, you will have noticed that the strategic purpose of this attack is unclear, and, as I hope you have reason to believe, I am a careful man and would not act rashly. I can offer you this: my word that I will not interpret your troop movements as a hostile move, but rather a sensible precaution, and that I will not begin escalations of my own while I await your reply. I grant you also the included documents, which I hope you will take as the offers of good faith that I intend.”

Treven took a long, slow breath and let it out. “Sincerely… I can’t read the signature.”

“It’s the ancient Kaled’a’in script. I don’t actually know that glyph, but I would guess that it shares a root with ‘night’, and with ‘air’.” She closed her eyes. “It’s his name. Leareth. It just means ‘darkness’ in modern Tayledras, but originally it means the night sky. The stars.”

Treven was silent for a long time.

“What’s in the rest?” he said finally.

“Haven’t been through all of it. There’s a second sealed letter addressed to Vanyel, which I haven’t opened.” Probably they ought to. Far too likely he wasn’t coming back. Gods, she wished they could get word to him, this seemed very relevant for him to know, but she had asked Rolan to check, and he was outside the Web. Anyone trying to reach him with long-range Mindspeech, or even the communication-spell, would risk giving away his location.

Stay on topic. “A map confirming the location of the pass – on other details, it matches our Icefoxes’ reports exactly – and he’s marked a place a few miles away that he suggests for a message-drop. Some mage-notes I can’t make heads or tails of, but I’m guessing it’s a description of a spell. And…a full guide to some kind of code. I haven’t cross-checked it yet, but I think it’s the same code from the Temple of Astera messages, and the books Van found in that cave.”

She lifted her head in time to see Treven’s eyes go saucer-wide. He licked his lips, pulling on his hair. “Dara, he’s given us the ability to translate any of his work that we’ve gotten our hands on?”

“Seems so. We should actually check.”

The slip of not-paper slid from Treven’s hands, fluttering down to the desk. He stared past her. “Does this mean…”

“Does this mean it really wasn’t him?” She had been chewing on that same question. “It’s information. Or, I mean, I _think_ it’s more likely he would send us this message in a scenario where he really didn’t do it? Than as a ruse in the scenario where he did. And he hasn’t attacked in force yet, which would be the real confirmation. Just, even if it was him, it’d be in his interest to muddy the waters this way. We should shift our odds a little, but not all the way.”

How much was ‘a little’? Dara couldn’t make it fall into numbers in her head.

She closed her eyes. “Anyway. We need to bring this to Randi, obviously – I took it to you first because he was a wreck when I saw him this morning. But, preliminary thoughts. He’s claiming that he doesn’t mind us bringing in an army to guard our side of the pass. Could be he’s lying, but he did back it up with some rather generous gifts.”

“Seems weird that he would lie for part but not all,” Treven suggested. “So either the whole thing is honest, in which case he didn’t do it, and also he’s really trying to de-escalate – or it’s all a lie, in which case it doesn’t matter, he’s going to attack us whether or not we mount our forces, and we’ll be better off if we do.”

“He might just mean our Guard,” Dara mused. “Could change his mind and get spooked when Iftel’s gryphons start showing up.” She noticed herself clenching her teeth, and moved her hands to massage her jaw.

“Does that mean we should do anything different?” Treven said.

“I don’t know. If we wanted, we could send a message. Make our own good-faith offering.”

“Ah.” Instant comprehension in Treven’s eyes. “Straight-up telling him about Iftel could be taken as a sign of trust, but it’s also a threat of sorts. Warning him that we’ve got greater strength than he might realize.”

“True. But it gives away the element of surprise.” Trying to weigh those considerations felt like juggling quicksand.

“Right.” She could almost see his mind turning, calculations flashing behind his eyes. “This is Katha’s area. And Keiran’s. We ought to discuss it with them…”

* * *

_I hate winter so much,_ Stef thought, for the thousandth time.

They were four days’ journey onward from Waymeet now, after spending two nights there; Melody’s hock had turned out to be badly bruised. Van had considered leaving her and obtaining a new horse, but Stef hadn’t been able to bring himself near any of the beasts they had looked at. His mare might not be a warhorse, but she was hardy enough – the Ashkevrons knew what they were doing, when it came to horses – and more importantly, Vanyel had conceded, Stef trusted her, and she was sweet and docile and wouldn’t try to buck her inexperienced rider even if he annoyed her. 

It was hard to imagine, now, that just two weeks ago he had been comfortably in Haven, looking forward to the Midwinter festivities. It felt like his life must have always been a frozen horizon and bitter wind.

Van was silent beside him, and despite the nearly unbearable boredom – incredible, how they could be riding north for what would either be the highest-stakes negotiation or highest-stakes assassination of the last century, and he was _bored_ _–_ Stef was leaving him alone. _I know you’re having a bad day, love._ Stef wasn’t sure what had set it off, the day before had been exactly as monotonously unpleasant as the days before it, but his lifebonded had screamed himself awake from a couple of nightmares, thoroughly disrupting both of their sleep. Morning had found them both snapping at each other constantly until Stef realized that the correct strategy was to keep his big mouth shut.

He remembered Van’s broken whisper, lying next to him in the dark. _I missed her funeral._ Stef hadn’t been sure until then whether his lifebonded had even noticed. He had been so… ‘Preoccupied’ wasn’t quite it. Distant, certainly, as remote as the mountains that never seemed to draw any closer.

Van had hoped they could cover ten miles a day, and maybe he and Yfandes could have alone, but Melody was struggling, and there was no longer anything like a road, only dozens of interweaving game-trails. Hills and gorges and cliffs, and frequently Stef had to dismount and let Van skilfully coax his mare over the difficult patches. This far north, the trees were spindly and gnarled, even more so than he remembered around Hot Springs Clan, and many of them sported branches only on the south-facing side; it made them look weirdly like keys.

That morning, they had crossed the Valdemaran border. It was unmarked, and Stef wouldn’t have had any idea, but Vanyel had noticed immediately when the Web dropped out.

Come to think of it, that might be another reason why he was so snappish. He had been leaning on the Web for energy, and for its alarms. Without that, he had to maintain shields on them and keep a constant eye out for danger, and he couldn’t tap nodes without leaving clear signs for any nearby mage.

They were on their own.

 _We’ll be in a sorry state by the time we get there._ Wherever ‘there’ was. Stef had no idea what to expect. Would Leareth make them cross the mountains and hunt for him, or would he send a greeting party – or an assassin? Just in case, Vanyel wasn’t planning on crossing via the pass; he had selected an alternate route from the very detailed map they had, courtesy of the Icefoxes. It would be brutal, especially for Stef and his poor mount, but Van thought they could make it.

Lately, Stef found himself half-hoping that Leareth would send agents after them. He wasn’t sure he could bear another two weeks in the saddle.

His stomach growled, and he dug in the pouch next to him for a snack. Some nuts would do – Roa had said they were good for quick energy, fuel that his body needed to stay warm, and had gifted them with a large sack. Despite two days of stuffing himself and their generous rations, Stef’s belt was still looser then it had been. When the wind blew in from the north, it seemed to cut right through his insides.

Stef thought longingly of the bubbling cave-pools over at Hot Springs Clan. They weren’t even that far away, and he had pressed Vanyel to make a stop and alert the _kyree_ to their plans; that had been one of their arguments this morning. His partner had vetoed the idea, hard. _They could decide we’ve lost our minds and try to stop us._ So instead, they were trying to skirt around to the east and avoid the Clan’s range entirely.

Stef was trying not to be bitter about it, but damn it, one night sleeping in warmth and comfort would have made such a difference. Van laid weather-barriers for them every night, but it wasn’t the same.

Melody shied back from something, whinnying, and Stef dragged his attention back to the moment, finding his balance in the saddle and then carefully guiding her around the frozen waterfall, toward a slope of icy-crusted scree that looked honestly terrifying. Van, damn him, hadn’t waited – he was already cresting the top, about to disappear from view.

Stef opened his mouth to shout, then gritted his teeth instead. _I don’t need his help._ With a heavy sigh, he swung his leg over and dismounted, wincing at the soreness in his legs. He was always sore, lately.

“Come on, girl.” He rubbed at her mane, humming under his breath. “We can do this.” He took a step–

_:Stefrungetbackandhide!NOW!GO!:_

The burst of Mindspeech, squished into a fraction of a second, nearly knocked him over, but Stef caught himself on the pommel of Melody’s saddle. The command in Van’s mindvoice was irresistible.

Out of sight, he heard the crack and rumble of something exploding, a flash of light mostly concealed by the bluff.

He dropped Melody’s reins, turned, and fled into the scruffy trees.

Stef had never been much of a runner, but fear spurred him forward, and he ran. A dozen times in the first minute, he tripped and fell on unseen obstacles, or floundered into hip-deep drifts of snow, but he scrambled up and kept going.

Time was meaningless, there was only the now, the snow in front of him – but, minutes or candlemarks later, Stef couldn’t run any further. He sagged to his knees in the snow, chest heaving, sucking in deep gulps of the icy air. His lungs were on fire, his heart hammering like a rabbit’s; he hadn’t realized that just being winded could be so painful.

For a long time, all he could focus on was catching his breath, but the rest crept in as his pulse slowed, thought and reasoning returning. _Van._

On instinct, he reached for their lifebond – and felt nothing.

Not a bottomless pit torn out of his soul, so Vanyel was still alive, but nothing was answering him. Even the shields of the Palace Work Room didn’t block their bond so thoroughly.

_They’ve got him._

It had to have been Leareth. Not in person, or there was no way Stef could have escaped – _oh, no_. A fresh burst of fear. _What if they’re looking for me?_

He closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Calm. Steady. Panicking wouldn’t do him, or Van, any good at all.

Start with defence. He hummed, pushing his Bardic gift into the familiar projection. _Nothing to see here._

He had a shield-talisman… In Melody’s saddlebags. _Damn it, you idiot._ What did he have on him? His belt-knife and a pouch of nuts. Not even water.

 _They’ve got Van._ The initial panic was veering into shame. Leareth’s men – it had to be – had captured his beloved, and he had run away.

 _…_ Because Van had ordered him too. And, he reminded himself, that had always been the plan. They had discussed this exact scenario. Stef had no hope of fighting off an attack, and it was preferable to have one of them captured than both, so Vanyel would fight, as flashily as possible, and Stef would run and hide.

Funnily enough, he could perfectly imagine Vanyel’s response to the guilt currently swamping him. _You did it, love. You ran and hid. Excellent work._

He was supposed to be considering his options, probably, but his emotions had other ideas. _They’ve got Van._ Grief and desperation. _They’re going to kill him._ A note of confusion, that they hadn’t yet, quickly drowned under the pain.

Helpless in the snow, Stef buried his face in his hands and wept. _I failed. I lost you._

And when the tears ran dry, he was still huddled in the snow, shivering hard. The few rays of sunlight shining through the dense underbrush were low and golden. The days were short, this far north. He only had a candlemark left until the light failed, and he probably wanted to be somewhere other than lost in a forest.

How exactly did one get un-lost in a forest? Stef didn’t even have the godforsaken map; Van did. _We should have brought two copies._ An obvious oversight, now. Just like how he should have _worn_ his damned shield-talisman all the time, like Van had asked, and just coped with how the cord chafed his neck.

He turned on the spot, trying to catch a glimpse of–

 _I’m such an idiot._ Stef’s flailing progress through the snowbanks had left a rather obvious trail. Fortunately – incredibly fortunately – no one seemed to have followed it, and it had been long enough that surely they would have if they had been tracking him. Maybe Van had distracted them enough that they hadn’t seen him at all.

Gritting his teeth, he started to retrace his steps.

An endless time later, the trees thinned ahead. Stef paused, and then backtracked and moved sideways, clinging to his sense of direction. The tree cover wasn’t much, here, but it was something, and if he could skirt around the waterfall and clamber the slope away from the path, he could get a glimpse of the spot where Van had been without exposing himself.

There was a chance, just a chance, that he hadn’t been taken – maybe he had only been wounded, enough to fall unconscious after defeating his attackers… A thin hope, but Stef clung to it.

The sun was setting by the time he reached the place. It wasn’t hard to recognize; the snow was melted in a giant circle, the ground scorched down to bare rock.

No sign of Van. No Yfandes.

This would have been a perfect time to be a Thoughtsenser, Stef thought with irritation. He frowned. Could he… He closed his eyes and softly hummed a tune, feeling around for that indefinable sense of having-an-audience.

Nothing. He risked singing a little louder, pushing in more of his Gift. Still no echoes.

Steeling himself, he stepped out of the trees, and looked around. Might as well hunt for clues. He was a trained spy, after all, and he even knew woods-tracking a little, thanks to his time in k’Treva, though that hadn’t been in winter.

Twilight was falling, but he paced the edges of the clearing, dizzy, trembling from exhaustion as well as cold…oh, right, it was probably a good idea to eat some of his nuts. And to risk slaking his thirst with a handful of clean-looking snow; too much would chill him, he knew enough about winter woods-survival to remember that, and he was already freezing. He should have filled a waterskin with snow and put it under his clothing to melt, but he didn’t have a goddamned waterskin, it had been hooked onto the pommel of Melody’s saddle.

Where was Melody now? He hadn’t found her body either. She must have spooked and run – hopefully, back down the trail that she knew, and with some hope of reaching a farmstead or something before she starved to death. She was a good horse, and she was _his_ ; she deserved better.

 _Stay on task, Bard._ He had a job to do.

Wandering around in the darkening twilight, he found a few patches of blood, and one broken dagger, but no bodies, and no trail.

Now what? He was alone in the wilderness, with barely any food and no means of lighting a fire, and soon the light would be gone and it would get even colder.

Maybe he could dig himself a shelter in the snow and curl up. Brightstar had told him about that trick; body heat might be enough to keep him from freezing to death. Otherwise, he had no choice but to keep moving until he keeled over.

Which, judging by the weakness in his knees, wouldn’t be in too long.

* * *

For a long time, all Dara could do was look around in awe.

 _I’m in the spirit world._ She stood on silver moonlight that somehow supported her weight. Bottomless blackness all around her, spun with trails of distant purple dust. Golden mist hovered closer at hand.

She looked down at herself. It felt like her body, though she knew it was only her mind that had moved, and in fact both of them were still sitting in the House of Healing. She still wore Whites, but they looked different. Like a painting, lacking detail.

“Now what?” she said finally, turning back to Brightstar.

“I have Called. Now we wait.” The Healing-Adept stood serenely, feet planted. Rather than the cotton sleeping-gown he had been wearing before, he was clad in Tayledras-style robes that seemed to be made of starlight, with a billowing cloak that gave the appearance of mantled wings.

He looked…more. Brighter, sharper, somehow even more solid than his real physical body.

And, here in the place where mind and spirit was everything, she could _see_ the shadow on him, muddying that clean silver light, trailing like ink in his wake. Grief, and anger. He had been hiding it well, before; she had really thought he was getting over it.

“Are you all right?” she said.

He turned and smiled at her, a flash of youthful bravado. “I am perfectly well.”

“Well, tell me if you’re getting tired. Andy will bite my head off if I wear you out.” She clasped her hands together. “And, Brighststar? Thank you.”

“You are welcome. It is no trial to visit this place.”

Settling in to wait, Dara went on looking around. It was so pretty here. No wonder Brighstar found it soothing – she did too. It was hard to hang onto her ordinary worries.

“Children.”

The voice startled her, and Dara spun around, nearly falling on her bottom.

A woman stood on the path. Slender, black-robed from head to foot, face veiled; Dara could see nothing of her features except her piercing blue eyes. Despite her short stature, she carried herself like a warrior, though Dara didn’t see any weapons. Her dark clothing was oddly luminous, as though lit from behind by moonlight.

Not her _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ , Dara noticed with disappointment. Another one. Hers had been taller.

She acknowledged Brightstar first, a smile playing about the corners of her eyes. “Welcome, Healing-Adept.” Then she met Dara’s eyes, and nodded to her. “Verkal'enedral. Guardian. Seer of futures. You seek counsel?”

“Um, yes.” Why was she so nervous? “Several years ago, I visited Kata’shin’a’in. With Herald-Mage Vanyel. We traveled to Urtho’s Tower–”

“We are aware.” Another gentle smile. Motherly, comforting. “You saw war on the horizon. A long and winding path. You sought knowledge of an enemy. Now you come to us, troubled.”

Dara closed her eyes. “It’s come. The war.” Probably. It would take too long to describe all the nuances. “I…thought your people would want to know.” Breathe. She forced herself to look up, into those motherly, uncanny eyes. A spirit who served a Goddess that Dara wasn’t sure they could trust, and yet whose help they couldn’t afford not to request. “Listen. Is there any way you can let me speak to Karna shena Tale’sedrin, Scrollsworn? Get her attention somehow? I know she knows how to come here.”

Silence.

“Or Shaman Vel’asha shena Liha'irden,” Dara said, half-desperately. What were the other name she knew? “Or Shaman Tre’haren shena Vuy she'edras, or Swordsworn Ke’valen shena Pretera'sedrin. Or _anyone_ , really.”

The _leshy’a_ bent her head. “Dear child, you need not beg. I am not so heartless.” A pause. “It is beyond my rights to drag any of them here unwilling, yet I might Call, and see.”

It might have been minutes later, or candlemarks.

The baleful violet light of dust-nebulas shone down on them.

With her arms thrown around Ke’valen’s neck – he felt so _real,_ in this strange place, though his true body was nearly a thousand miles away – Dara wept.

The Swordsworn patted her shoulder. “Shush, child. I know it is frightening.”

She hadn’t realized until the man appeared, walking toward them on the Moonpaths, just how long she had been holding it in. Even with Tran, she tried to keep the sheer terror buried under the surface; for all that he was so many years older, she had always felt that he leaned on her strength. With Rolan, she didn’t have to hide it, but the distant, alien comfort he could offer wasn’t the same as a hug from a fellow mortal.

Finally, her tears ran out, and Dara stepped back. “Ke’valen, I’m sorry. That wasn’t – I should greet you properly.” She had only gotten as far as stammering out a two-sentence description of their plight and then falling into his arms. “I’m glad to see you.”

“And I you.” He bent his head. “It has been too long. And yet I thought never to see you again, and so perhaps there is one advantage to this crisis. There is no disaster without benefit.” A brief, toothy grin, a flash of his old cheer fading rapidly into grimness.

The _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ had vanished, there-and-gone, as soon as Ke’valen appeared. Brightstar was still there, hovering.

 _Where are my manners?_ “This is Brightstar k’Treva,” she said. “He’s a friend. And, er, he’s Vanyel’s son by blood.”

“I see.” Ke’valen nodded to the Healing-Adept. “It is my honour. I am sorry about your home.”

Brightstar returned the nod, unsmiling.

“Should you go back?” Dara said. “Are you tired?” The silver light around him had dimmed while they waited. “Ke’valen, could _you_ help me get back to my body when we’re done?” It wasn’t just that she was worried about Brightstar’s fatigue. Some part of her badly wanted a private conversation.

“Of course, child.” Ke’valen took her hand. “Healing-Adept, we will be well here.”

Brightstar hesitated, then nodded. A second later, he faded from sight.

“Is Karna available?” Dara said. “I wanted to speak with her too.” In particular, she wanted to hear Karna’s reaction, and whether she was as flabbergasted that Leareth would pull something like this on them – and what she thought of his message. “If possible,” she added, looking down. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You have earned the right to ask. It is no imposition. She and Tre’haren will come soon.”

It was uncanny, looking into Ke’valen’s dark blue eyes and seeing no hint of his usual humour. His clothing had changed as well – stepping into this place, they had been brown, but now he was clad head-to-toe in black, a sword at each hip.

A Shin’a’in Swordsworn on blood feud. The garments had shifted as she described k’Treva’s destruction.

“Ke’valen,” she said. “You knew about Leareth.” He had shown no surprise or confusion when she stammered out her tale. “How many people know?”

“At this time, those Swordsworn who serve the Old City. Tre’haren felt there was need.”

Which meant the Star-Eyed thought so. Dara wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful or uneasy.

“There’s more you should know,” she added, dully. “He sent us a message. Claiming it wasn’t him. And some gifts, to show good faith.”

Ke’valen looked into her eyes. “And do you believe him, child?”

“I don’t know.” Even after mulling on it all day, it was still loose and slippery in her head.

One thing was solid. “Ke’valen, I’m so grateful… You have no idea how good it is to see you. We got so lucky.”

That Brightstar had learned to walk the Moonpaths, years earlier, and that he had been in Valdemar, and survived k’Treva’s destruction…

Ke’valen tugged at his jet-black braid. “Lucky, you say. Girl, there is no such thing as coincidence, only mortals who have not fought the winds of fate.”

Another proverb, but for once, there was no belly laugh to go with it.

 _I don’t know that I like it._ Dara kept those words to herself. Ke’valen had complete faith in his Goddess.

Come to think of it, their war effort was going to be relying heavily on people who had utter faith in _some_ other Power, whether it was Vkandis, the Star-Eyed, or perhaps something else entirely for the White Winds mages. Dara wasn’t sure that she liked that either.

“I feel like such an idiot,” she said dully. “That we didn’t see this coming.” And that she still couldn’t fit the pieces together. She felt slow, stupid. Lost.

Ke’valen’s hand brushed her shoulder. “No one has lived who has not been a fool at least once. And, given what you knew then, I do not know that you were wrong.” A heavy sigh. “Perhaps we drew the wrong lessons from Urtho’s history. And yet, I do think, no learning is ever wasted.”

* * *

He was so warm.

Drifting in fog, Stef tried vaguely to remember why that was surprising. There had been a before, it had been…very not-warm…

Darkness lapped around him. The glue in his head was starting to clear. For some reason the darkness was _wet_ …

It took him a stupidly long time to realize that the warmth, the wetness, the odd light playing on his closed eyelids, and the lulling background sounds all had one source. He was in a hot spring.

K’Treva? No, it smelled different. Distinctly like wet dog, in fact. And there was something…he couldn’t remember, but there was a reason it couldn’t be k’Treva.

He had been…where? Cold, that was all he remembered. Cold, and the stars as they came out, and how tired he had been, he remembered knowing that he had to stay awake but he had been so damned sleepy…

Vanyel.

Stef tried to sit up, wrenching in a breath to cry out. _Van, where are you?_ The surface under him gave, and he sank, water splashing over his face, burning in his nose – seconds later, though, he was being lifted again, and something bumpy, soft-and-hard, landed on his chest, holding him flat. _:Be calm, Singer. Please:_ A familiar voice. _:Errol, his head:_

Someone was in fact supporting his head in the water, Stef realized. With paws, not hands. That voice… He opened his eyes. Everything was still a blur, but the mingled colours, red and blue and yellow and green, were familiar.

“Aroon,” he croaked. “Where–” No, that was a stupid question, he knew where he was. He cleared his throat. “How…?”

_:We were hoping you might tell us what brought you here, Singer. You Called to us, and we came as fast as we could:_

Had he? That was a smart idea, even if he didn’t remember having it. He coughed. “Where’s Van–” He couldn’t feel him. That was wrong, he could always–

Memory slammed into him, a wave knocking him flat. _Oh, gods._ How had he forgotten? Van’s panicked mindvoice, sending him fleeing into the forest. The scorched earth. The blood.

Sobs wracked his body. _I’m sorry, love, I’m so sorry._ He wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for, exactly. That he hadn’t somehow seen it coming? Fought off the attackers?

Or that their last candlemarks together had been spent in grumpy silence?

Aroon held him steady between its paws, claws carefully sheathed. With effort, Stef focused on his breathing. He had already wasted enough time weeping – and then passing out in the snow, apparently, judging by the blank in his memory.

He prodded at the lifebond again. Still nothing coming from it, but Van was alive. He clenched his fists, under the water. _I’ll find you, love. No matter what it takes._

 _:I think we ought move on from this pool:_ a _kyree_ voice he didn’t recognize interrupted.

“No,” Stef tried to argue, “don’t, s’warm…” It was no good; they hefted him out of the water. Still unable to make out anything except smudged rainbows, Stef was baffled for a moment as to what was happening – it didn’t feel like paws under him – until, exploring it with his hands, he realized they were supporting him in a sort of long basket, woven of supple willow-branches around a stiffer piece of wood somehow bent into a sturdy frame.

The air was cold on his skin, and he squealed in protest, but then sheathed paws were rolling him from the litter onto…furs, it seemed, and tossing more furs on top of him, a whole nest of them. They smelled a bit, but compared to his bedroll laid out with nothing but canvas underneath, it felt like laying on a cloud.

He was already warmer, but a moment later the nest shifted, and now it was living fur next to him, as Aroon wriggled itself in beside him. Radiating body heat. _:Are you comfortable, Singer?:_

“Mmm…” His eyelids were sticking together again, but he fought the drowsiness. “Van.” He tried to suck some saliva into his mouth. “They t-took him. Leareth’s men.”

 _:We suspected:_ Regret and worry in the neuter’s husky mindvoice. _:With what we see at your Border… We have awaited your Call for days:_

Stef hadn’t thought of that, but the Clan’s range ran right up against the Border;they must have noticed the Guard movements.

He ought to tell them more, probably, but the fog was encroaching again, and the words wouldn’t come.

A rough tongue caressed his hair, surprisingly comforting. _:You need not explain now, young Singer. If you might sit up, I would have you drink:_

“I’ll try…” Stef was parched, but had been too muzzy to recognize the feeling as thirst. He managed to ease himself up against Aroon’s side, the _kyree_ giving no complaint even when he grabbed fistfuls of fur. The wooden bowl placed in his hands was wonderfully, delightedly _warm;_ the broth had a bitter medicinal taste, but he gulped it anyway, feeling the delicious heat spread through his insides.

 _:Now sleep:_ Aroon gently mouthed his shoulder and guided him down.

“Van–”

_:Our scouts search now for a trail. There is nothing you need do before morning. Rest:_

It was morning. At least, the _kyree_ said so; deep in the caves, Stef couldn’t tell. He was still weak and shaky, but clearheaded. He sat in his pile of skins – he had already stopped noticing the smell – and cuddled up against Aroon, sipping from a fresh bowl of broth. It held tidbits of meat as well, and despite the pit of fear and guilt in his gut, he found he was very hungry.

At the sound of paws on the stone, Stef twisted around, nearly dropping his bowl. “Oh! Did you–”

 _:You need not interrupt your meal, young man:_ Hyrryl, the huge white-furred shaman, lowered herself stiffly to the cave-floor. _:Eat, and I will tell you of what we have found. Unfortunately, we do not know where your Vanyel is:_

He hadn’t expected it, really, but even so he sagged with disappointment. “Oh.”

 _:Do not despair so soon:_ Her Companion-blue eyes rested on him. _:Those who took him were skilled indeed, yet it is nigh-impossible for mere men to evade the tracking of a kyree scout. It appears that they traveled some distance – likely with sled-dogs, common among the northern clanfolk – and took shelter in a shielded cave to raise a Gate. Clever, or else I would have detected the spell even at thirty miles’ remove:_

“So you can’t tell where they went?”

_:Not without further searching, no. I would assume they brought him across the mountains. Our scouts will cross to search:_

For a moment, all Stef could do was stare. “But…isn’t that dangerous…” He wouldn’t ever have dared ask it of them.

 _:Yes. Nonetheless. You are a friend to us, Singer of Valdemar:_ Her eyelids pulled back, ears pointing up and nose wrinkling. _:Besides which, it is not in our interest to allow a hostile move so near to our range to remain unchallenged:_ Anger in her mindvoice, not quite like a human’s anger. There was a predator’s hunger in it.

Which didn’t bother Stef, particularly. Right now, having a hunter at his side seemed like a very good thing. “Thank you,” he said, looking her in the eye. “It means a lot.”

Hyrryl made a noise deep in her chest. _:I am not done. From the traces in the cave, we believe that they brought both Vanyel and his Yfandes through the Gate on a sledge, so we might infer they were unconscious or at least bound. We saw no blood, and did not smell fear or pain:_ A pause. _:They left behind a shield-focus and some minor artifacts, which our scouts are bringing. Not far along their trail, we found abandoned saddlebags – it seems they did not judge them worth carrying:_ She dropped her muzzle, lips pulling back and ears leaning forward. _:Also. Did you by chance come here riding a chestnut mare?:_

“I did!” Stef was surprised by the intensity of relief and joy he felt. “You found her?”

_:We did. She was hungry and frightened, and weak from exposure, but unhurt. Our scouts are caring for her now, and will lead her back once she is able. We took her packs as well – we suspected they were yours, and that you might wish to have them:_

He couldn’t help grinning at her obvious smugness. “Hyrryl, you’re wonderful. All of you are wonderful.” Impulsively, he set down his broth and scrambled forward on his knees, throwing his arms around her neck. “Thank you.”

A rumble of pleasure in her chest. _:I promise you, Bard Stefen, that we will do all we can to help in your time of need:_ She wriggled free of his embrace, settling back on her haunches, and lifted a paw too lick. _:Are you feeling well?:_

“Much better. Um, I don’t think I’ve thanked you yet for rescuing me.”

Her eyes slitted, ears flicking forward again. _:You are welcome. If you are able, now is a time we would like some answers:_

Stef shuffled back to Aroon’s side, reaching to scratch the _kyree_ behind the ears. “Oh. Right. What do you want to know?”

_:I will start with what we do know already. We have observed your Guards moving, and we gather the situation with your Leareth has changed._

“We, um… We’re at war. Officially.” There, it was said. “Leareth attacked us – at least, we’re assuming it was him, we don’t have proof and it doesn’t totally make sense but all the other explanations are really implausible.”

 _:Where did he strike?:_ Curiosity, and confusion. _:We have seen nothing at the pass, nor in the surrounding area:_

“Oh. That’s...good, I guess.” And confusing. “No, it wasn’t in the north at all. There were two plots. One in Haven, an assassination attempt on Karis and her daughter – er, she’s the Queen of Karse, she married King Randale to cement our alliance.”

 _:We know of Queen Karis:_ Another wolfish grin. _:We are not so isolated as all that:_ A pause. _:You say attempt. Did it succeed?:_

Stef swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. “Karis and Arven survived, but we lost Herald-Mage Savil. I don’t know if you’ve heard of her. Our most experienced mage, she was…” Unforgettable. Irreplaceable. The most remarkable old bitch the gods ever made, he had called her.

 _:We know the name:_ This time it was Aroon who answered, lifting its head, ears flattening back. _:That is ill news. You were close?:_

“Yes.” His eyes burned. “And Van… She was like a mother to him.”

A gentle nip at his arm, soft enough that he barely felt the teeth. _:I am sorry, Singer:_

“So am I.” He swiped at his eyes.

Hyrryl waited respectfully until he had control of himself again. _:You said two attacks:_

“Yes. You’re not going to like this.” He steeled himself. “K’Treva Vale. He…obliterated it.”

The reaction was immediate. Hyrryl reared up on her haunches, snarling and bearing her teeth; Stef flinched despite himself. Even Aroon went rigid, ears going straight up.

 _:How?:_ The shaman leaked shock more than rage. _:By the sun and stars, how?:_

“We don’t know.” Oddly, it was easier to speak of than Savil’s death. “The Heartstone broke containment. Van thinks it had to be sabotage from the inside. He must have turned one of their Adepts – we don’t know how either, until two weeks ago I would’ve said it was impossible.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t know if White Rock Clan survived. It’s possible they got out of the way in time.”

 _:We will send searchers:_ There was grief in her mindvoice now. _:Perhaps there are survivors from the Vale also, if any long-range scout parties were away at the time:_

…Had they thought of that possibility? Stef supposed it would have been moot. Valdemar didn’t have the resources to search the Pelagirs for them.

Hyrryl rose, pacing the stone floor. _:You are right. I do not like it at all. That he has such power…:_

“I know. It’s even worse than we thought.” Stef closed his eyes. “Even with all the allies we can call on, I…don’t know that Valdemar can win. So Van and I came north. We–” He was almost embarrassed to admit it, now, it sounded like such an incredibly stupid plan. “We were going to talk to him. On the off-chance that it’s not what it looks like, because…well, it probably was him, but it’s weird enough that we aren’t sure. We wanted confirmation, one way or another.” His chest spasmed. “And if it _is_ what it looks like, then Van was going to try to, try to…”

 _:To kill him in direct combat:_ No hesitation at all in Hyrryl’s mind. _:A brave and valiant move. And it is perhaps not too late. Your partner is hardly defenceless – and they made a dire mistake, I think, when they failed to capture you as well:_

“That’s what I’m hoping.” He tried to push down the shame. “That’s why I ran away instead of trying to fight alongside him.”

 _:You made the brave choice:_ Aroon send, soothing. _:I know your emotions do not believe it, yet, but it is true. You are here, alive and free. We shall plan our next move:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologize for the fact that things like this keep happening, however, I'm not sorry.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter!

Her rooms were just ahead. Grateful, Lissa sped her pace. She didn’t relax until she had closed and bolted the door behind her, sagging against the wall. “All right, Need, what’s got into you?”

A mumble from the figure lying on the bed. “Liss?”

“Sorry, Nani.” She had, yet again, forgotten that the young Herald – technically a Herald-Mage, but Farsight was her stronger Gift and she rarely used the title – wasn’t an early riser at _all_. “Need’s being a pain in the behind today, is all.”

Not just today. It had started yesterday, but Lissa had been in the middle of meeting with all her new mercenary captains, in no mood to be distracted, and she had eventually taken the sheathed sword off her belt and shoved her in a corner.

“Mmm.” Sheets rustled as Nani sat up, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Candlemark after dawn.” Lissa had been up since before the sun rose, sparring. It was a chance to test the mettle of her prospective hires, and stay in shape at the same time.

The Herald swung her legs over the side of the bed, and bent over on her elbows, massaging her face with both hands. “You going to breakfast?”

“In a minute.” She ought to give Need a proper cleaning. Maybe that would soothe her, and she would stop _tugging,_ filling Lissa with the urgent desire to saddle her mare and gallop for the horizon. “Damn it, I wish she could talk to me, tell me what’s got her knickers in a tangle this time.” Need was being vaguer than usual; the pull didn’t even have a direction, much less an impression of distance.

And she absolutely couldn’t afford to be dragged off on any wild-goose chases. They had been in Mournedealth for a week, and the ink had barely dried on the last couple of contracts. Yesterday, she had told all of them that they had three days to be ready to move.

Lissa was nervous about the Gate; it was too close for her liking to a single point of failure. Nani had never attempted the range before, though she had tested short-range concert Gates with Need before her place on Lissa’s team was confirmed.

They _could_ still reach Valdemar even if Nani failed, she reminded herself. They would have to piggyback on whatever plan Katri sorted out for the Rethwellani forces; riding almost two thousand warm, well-armed bodies through Rethwellan sounded like a diplomatic nightmare waiting to happen, and it would delay them considerably; but it was possible.

Nani rubbed her eyes. “Want me to have a go?”

“If you’d be willing.” The Herald had a bit of Mindspeech. Lissa offered Nani the blade, hilt-first. “Good luck.” Crossing around to her side of the bed, she skinned out of the drawstring trews and loose shirt she had worn to spar.

“Huh.” Nani straightened up. “Says she’s got a hunch we ought to hurry home, is all.”

Lissa scowled. “We _are_ hurrying. In case you haven’t noticed.”

* * *

Jisa frowned over her shoulder. “Trev, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He pulled the door shut behind him and crossed the room, embracing her from behind. “Not for a candlemark. I wanted to see you.”

 _You saw me three candlemarks ago._ Jisa held back on the retort. It really wasn’t on her to nag Treven about his time management, and she recognized the unsteady look in his eyes. He needed her, to ground himself before facing whatever impossible task they had thrown on him for this afternoon. 

“Well, then I appreciate the company.” She set down the book she had been examining and straightened, looking around the half-emptied suite. “I’m having kind of a morbid morning.”

“I imagine. Surprised they didn’t delegate this to the servants.”

Jisa shook her head. “You know what Savil was like. Wards and alarms everywhere, half her belongings enchanted. Not worth the risk of some poor maid touching an artifact she couldn’t recognize and getting herself turned into a frog or something.”

Treven chuckled. “Hey, you can’t pull that one over me anymore. I know you can’t actually turn people into frogs.”

…Well. _Could_ she? With a variant of the enchantments on Need, transferring a human spirit to another vessel… Of course, that would involve killing their original body, making it impossible to undo, and with only a frog’s body and brain to hold them, they wouldn’t stay human for long. Not exactly the thing that a White Winds mage ought to even think about – though she could practically hear Van’s response to that in her ears. _All information is worth having._

Jisa gestured at the table. “Care to help me sort her books?” Savil had owned a stupid number of them. “Everything about mage-craft in that stack, everything about governance over here, and anything else over on the sideboard.”

Treven’s long-fingered hands reached in. “Anything for you, My Lady.”

She stuck out her tongue at him.

For a few minutes, they sorted through their piles in silence.

Damn it but she missed Van. After Leareth’s message had arrived the day before – and when Katha had conveyed that his code-breaking notes were legitimate, though it would takes weeks to decipher all the documents – Jisa had dared to hope, to increase her odds on ever seeing her father by blood alive again.

Leareth hadn’t mentioned k’Treva at all in his note, only Savil. No one knew what to make of it. It could mean he hadn’t done it, and genuinely didn’t know; it would have been a lot easier for spies in Haven to miss. Or he could be trying to bluff them.

The spell he had shared was a variant of the communication-spell, but with a key difference – like her new Gate-technique, it could be done blindly, requiring only a bearing and a distance. The other end would appear as a sort of beacon, visible for any Adept mage within fifty miles, and they could ‘pick it up’ from there, the beacon acting as a sort of relay. A way to communicate across the mountain without giving away the precise location of either mage.

So that was it. A conciliatory message, and the additional evidence that, day after day, Leareth’s armies were nowhere in sight.

 _Were we wrong?_ Had it been some other enemy actor all along? _Who?_ She had raised her wild guess with Treven, that it could be a god’s work, but it was hard to argue a case for that.

Still, she had been trying to convince Treven to send a reply. Tran was vehemently against it, of course, and Keiran was leery as well, but Dara seemed tentatively in favour.

“Jisa?” Treven’s hand caught hers, and she realized she had been staring at the same book in her hands for minutes, not seeing it. “Are you worrying?”

She ducked her head. He could always tell.

“Hey.” He rose, pulled her gently away from the table. “Listen. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

Standing in front of her, he looked down at her, not quite meeting her eyes. He licked his lips.

“Just spit it out,” Jisa said. “I promise I won’t be mad.”

“That’s…not what I’m worried about.” He hesitated, tugging on his hair, then dug in the pocket of his tunic. Whatever he pulled out, he kept it hidden in the palm of his hand.

“Jisa…” He caressed her cheek with his free hand, then took her fingers in his.

And knelt, gazing up at her. He opened his other hand; a bracelet rested in his hand. It was one of the kind in fashion right now, woven of horsehair – no, Companion-hair. “Sorry. I know it’s not proper, but I didn’t have much time. Jisa, love, will you marry me?”

For maybe thirty seconds, all she could do was stare.

“I – Trev – what…” She swallowed. “Of course I want to marry you. Just, I thought we’d decided…” 

“I know. And then things changed.” His blue eyes were imploring. “Jisa, everything is falling apart. We have no idea what the next few weeks are going to hold. Right now I don’t even know if there’ll be a Valdemar left for me to rule.”

The naked pain in his voice was too much to bear. Jisa tried to cover her wince with a wry smile. “If you haven’t noticed, you’re pretty much ruling Valdemar already.”

He ignored her. “Jisa, there’s no point saving our resources for the future. Not our gold, not our soldiers and Heralds, not the goodwill of our neighbours… Why bother hanging onto my availability for a state marriage?” He shook a lock of golden hair out of his eyes. “Jisa, I’m _scared_. I intend to do my best, and Eren believes in me, but…damn it all, if I’m to inherit a Kingdom in the middle of a war, I _need_ you.”

 _I’m here anyway_ , she thought. It wasn’t like anything or anyone could stop her from helping him.

“We might all die.” Desperation, love. “And if that’s to happen, I just – I want – Jisa, if I’ve stood in the temple with you and said my vows, it’ll have been enough. Please.” He was trembling. “Surely we’ve earned that one thing.”

* * *

“You’re going to think I’m crazy, Aroon,” Stef said dully. “But on second thought, I don’t think we should tell the commander in Waymeet.”

It was already evening. He sat cross-legged with his back to the cave-wall, wearing one of his own shirts, retrieved from Melody’s saddlebags, and one of the furs fastened around his waist with his cloak-pin. Van’s detailed map was spread across his knees. They had found it in an outer pouch of his abandoned saddlebags; apparently the kidnappers either hadn’t searched his things at all, or hadn’t thought there was any risk leaving it behind. Reasonably enough, maybe; if they thought Van was alone, they wouldn’t have expected anyone to follow their trail.

 _:I would hear the why before judging your sanity:_ Aroon sent, muzzle resting on his shoulder.

Stef stared vaguely into the distance, trying to form the vague unease into words. “One, I really, _really_ don’t want Leareth to find out about Hot Springs Clan. I promised you secrecy, and you’re the only allies we have that I don’t think Leareth could know about. Even Randi doesn’t know.” His only edge. “We have to assume he has spies in our ranks.”

 _:I worry also:_ Aroon acknowledged softly.

“And, if Leareth doesn’t know I was there,” which seemed more likely than not, given that he had spent candlemarks crying in the forest at the end of an extremely obvious trail, and no one had come after him, “he may not realize that anyone in Valdemar is aware Van was kidnapped. If he doesn’t expect anyone to be looking for him yet…” That was an advantage he was loath to give up.

Sudden realization. “Damn it! He could know by now even if they didn’t see me. He must have Thoughtsensers, they could’ve read Van.”

 _:True:_ Aroon acknowledged. _:I do not think we can know, yet:_

“But if his spies don’t hear anything about a rescue mission,” Stef went on hopefully, “he might assume I’m, I don’t know, still lost in the woods or something. Or that I froze to death.” And he might waste time and resources looking for Vanyel’s missing lover – in the process, giving the _kyree_ scouts an indication of his resources, if they were right that they could easily stay unseen even from skilled human trackers.

Stef rubbed his eyes. “Also, we left in secret. I don’t know for sure, but it sounded like Randi wasn’t going to tell anyone but the Senior Circle. So it would take a lot of explaining, in Waymeet.” Would they even believe him? Even their relationship was known by few; he imagined the Guard-commander’s bafflement at a ragged Bard wandering out of the forest, claiming to be lifebonded to Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane. 

Worse, what if they somehow blamed him for it? Stef would be the bearer of unexpected, horrifying news, and he could imagine a frightened, captain, or even the Herald in charge, panicking and jumping to recriminations. It would all get sorted out eventually, and it wasn’t a _good_ reason to hold off on asking for desperately-needed help, but still. Stef flinched from the idea of confessing to a stranger that he had watched Herald-Mage Vanyel’s kidnapping and done nothing.

He gulped. “Plus, it’s got to be chaotic over there right now, no one knows what’s happening, and…gods, there’s a chance this would spook them into mounting an immediate attack through the pass. Van is one of the most famous people in the Kingdom. Whoever’s in charge, either with the Heralds or the Guard, probably worked with him during the war with Karse. It’d be hard for them to stand by and wait for orders when a national hero is in trouble – and, gods, Randi might sign off on it.” He sighed. “But they’d get clobbered.”

 _:A fair point:_ Aroon agreed.

Silence. Stef leaned back, trying to think.

“Hmm. What are we trying to accomplish here?” He tugged at his hair. “Gah. All right. We need backup, in case we find out where he is and want to go rescue him. What we _don’t_ need is for this to get out publicly and cause a panic.” At the very least, that announcement ought to be Randi’s decision.

In fact, their entire response ought to be the King’s decision, not a plot thrown together by a young Bard with no combat experience. _I’m out of my depth._ He rubbed his eyes. “I…do think we have to get word to Randi.”

–A tripping feeling. It was undeniably his duty, but at the same time, Stef wasn’t sure he trusted Randi not to respond with a hasty and ill-thought retaliation. The King was under so much pressure right now, and Van, one of his best friends, had twisted his arm into allowing their trip north at all.

And yet, Randi needed accurate information for his planning. Their chances of a successful negotiation, small to begin with, had just dropped to almost zero. Van’s odds of catching Leareth off guard and taking him out weren’t good either. _He was ready for us._ Yet again, they had underestimated him.

It was making Stef dizzy, trying to hold and weigh all the considerations in his mind. He rubbed his jaw, which ached. “Seems like the best course is to pass a message to Randi, directly, and as privately as possible.”

The Mindspeech-relay would be quick, but risky in terms of security; Randi wouldn’t want this particular news passed through half a dozen Heralds.

How else… Oh. Stef clenched his teeth for a moment, indecisive, before admitting that he _had_ to ask. Presumptuous or not. “Um, Aroon? Could you or one of the FarRangers get to Haven again?”

Aroon’s ears flattened back. _:It will not be easy to pass unseen now that you Guard is on high alert. They watch the Border carefully, and I imagine they watch the river also, after the attack. I would not like to be mistaken for a Changecreature:_

Stef winced. “Then I won’t ask you to.” The _kyree_ were putting themselves in enough danger for him already, and Randi had no idea they existed and no reason to trust a strange wolflike creature showing up on his doorstep. That could get quite hairy.

He forced his teeth to unclench. “I could go in person.”

It would take weeks, though, and his heart quailed at the thought of riding that far in the cold. He wasn’t even sure he could pitch the tent by himself. And trying to request an escort in Waymeet, or beg for someone to waste precious mage-work Gating him home, was hardly discreet. Maybe he could come up with some tale to explain his presence in the north and why he so urgently needed to speak to the King – in fact, given that prompt, his mind was already jumping to stories, he _was_ one of Katha’s spies after all – but even a lie might give Leareth’s spies the information the man needed to put the rest together. Especially if he had already dragged the fact of Stef’s existence out of Vanyel’s mind…

“I could write a letter and drop it off in Waymeet.” Given all the logistics to be wrangled, they had to be passing sealed messages up and down constantly, and a Herald-courier could cross in a week the distance that would take him a month on Melody’s back.

It seemed like the least-bad idea so far, but it still made him uneasy, and his mental picture of Katha was frowning hard. There was a reason why she insisted that any truly sensitive message ought to be only conveyed in person; the Heralds’ courier-route would be a juicy plum for Leareth’s spies.

“It might be intercepted.” He made a face. “And it would still mean revealing where I am, unless I sent it under a false name.” Which was dicey – he had to make it clear to Randi who had sent it, or else sending it at all was pointless. “Even if it made it there, Randi might not be the one who opened it. He mostly doesn’t read his own mail anymore.” Dara, Treven, Shavri; it could be any of them. And if it were Tran, which was possible…

Stef felt unease curdling in his gut. Herald Tantras had, at times, been more than a little hostile towards Van. Was there a chance he would ‘forget’ to tell the King about the news, preferring not to divert precious resources to rescue someone he considered a possible traitor?

Damn it, this was taking paranoia too far. Stef had to trust the members of the Senior Circle, or else he would drive himself insane with second-guessing.

Which he was already well on his way to doing.

An echo of Katha’s voice. _Think like a spy, lad._

He dug his palms into his eye sockets. There had to be an answer.

* * *

In the moments of awareness, Vanyel marked out the corner of his mind that still belonged to him, and waited. Save his strength. Endure.

At the beginning, he had fought it with every fibre of his being, slamming his will into the barrier that blocked him from his Gifts, his bond with Yfandes, and the lifebond, locking him into a tiny corner, a prison in his own mind. Even his body was mostly out of reach; there were sensations, but everything was all twisted up. His senses bled into one another, an incessant storm of noise/colour/tastes/touch that he eventually turned his attention away from rather than trying to interpret. He couldn’t keep track of where his limbs were, or even what direction was up. He could sometimes figure out how to open his eyes, but there wasn’t much point.

Remembering Jisa’s node-powered set-command, he had stopped trying to fight it. No point damaging his mind in the process.

There had been pain, before – oh, he had been able to feel _that_ , even if it had come half as blazing spirals of light and crashing thunder, the smell of smoke and a salty-bitter taste in his mouth. It didn’t hurt anymore. There had been cool-green-wet at one point – the touch of Healing, recognizable even through his distorted senses – and the pain had faded under its touch.

He could move a little, with great effort, but the signals to his limbs seemed to be just as knotted together as his senses; he had only succeeded at setting off fresh waves of bright-loud-pain, presumably by banging into obstacles. Flailing at random wasn’t going to help him escape; better to relax and avoid exhausting or injuring himself.

Most of the time, now, the sound-colour-touch came in soothing pastels and waves-on-a-beach; they had laid him on something soft. It was unpleasant having his senses tangled like this, very distressing to be trapped and helpless, and of course he was terrified of what his capture meant for Valdemar – but, most of the time, he could tolerate it and stay calm enough.

He couldn’t tell if he was moving. No way of knowing where he was by now.

Everyone so often they lifted him and made him drink, or at least he assumed that was what was happening. It seemed his body could still swallow by reflex, but it was a weird and unsettling experience.

It was very hard to think, but in fragments, he had managed to reason through some of the implications. Not good ones. This was a clear hostile act, and he had no way of warning anyone. Unless Stef was still free – _gods, ashke, please –_ but Vanyel couldn’t get a message to him either.

The soldiers – and he was sure that they were elite, trained soldiers, not mere bandits – must have neatly evaded his outer perimeter of tripwire-spells, and his inner layer of wards had given him only a second’s warning. Sloppy of him. He had lasted maybe thirty seconds, against two dozen men, all of them shielded impeccably with talismans, at least ten of them mages. He had thrown fire and lightning and force-daggers at them, mostly to no avail – he thought he had taken several of them down, once it occurred to him to Fetch their protective talismans away and _then_ attack, and Yfandes had flattened two under her hooves before a blast sent them both sprawling – but meanwhile they had been striking at _him_ as well. His sheer power hadn’t mattered; alone and outnumbered, with coordinated blows hitting his shields over and over, they must have overwhelmed all his defences. And gotten to Yfandes somehow. The desperation and panic as levinbolt after levinbolt ate away at his faltering personal shields were the last thing he remembered.

It had been a remarkably well-planned and well-executed kidnapping. They had taken him alive, in under a minute, and he hadn’t even had a chance to Broadsend a Mindspeech call for help. Leareth would surely be congratulating his pawns on a job well done.

Even in all the confusion, he could remember the cold of the ice-dream, and the numbness and resignation that came with it.

_This is the end._

And yet, he was still breathing. Leareth didn’t want him dead just yet. Which meant that he might still have an opportunity.

* * *

Randi was slipping away from her. Shavri wasn’t sure how much the emergency was hastening his decline, and it didn’t matter, really.

She was nearly always at his side, awake or asleep, and she usually had a second Healer with her as well. Every night while she slept next to him, Gemma sat by his bedside and painblocked, the only reason Shavri was getting any rest. Alia, and another young Healer called Nabin who had mastered basic painblocking, traded off with her during the day, covering every single moment that Randi didn’t have to be alert and functional. He spent most of each day in trance, or dozing.

Not enough, never enough. _I feel like I’ve already lost you, love._ Those precious minutes when he was fully _there_ were exactly the times that Shavri was distracted, painblocking to get him through yet another crucial meeting.

She watched him, laying at an incline on his day-bed, swathed in blankets, his head steadied by a triangle of two pillows. Eyes glinting out of deep recessed hollows, but still bright, as he spoke to Dara; Treven was late for some reason. One of the polite young men from the White Winds school was guarding the door and holding one of their fancy weather-barriers, keeping the air toasty. Which the poor boy was suffering through with great patience, discreetly mopping the sweat from his brow, but Shavri was grateful. She found that nowadays _she_ was always cold too.

 _You’re giving him everything you have_ , Gemma had said, sympathy and pain in her eyes.

One night, sitting up in bed waiting for Gemma, Shavri had played her hands over the last few wisps of Randi’s hair, and genuinely, deeply considered doing the one thing a Healer never did – opening an unrestricted channel. Letting Randi draw freely on her energy, and when her reserves were gone, his dying body would start draining the life-force from her blood. She could buy him a little longer, days or weeks, and by some argument, that was straight-up worth it. The life of one weary Healer, already half broken, and she wouldn’t have to make a _choice_ , after, of whether or not to go on without him.

If this had all happened a year-and-some ago, before her trip to k’Treva and many, many sessions with Terrill, she would have done it in a heartbeat.

Now, though…

Shavri could tally up the weight of the consequences, the Kingdom on one side and herself on the other, and see how scant her life was in comparison – and yet, she remembered Terrill’s words. _Shavri, when we do that, we make ourselves slaves. Doesn’t matter if we don the chains ourselves, we’re still betraying what it means to be people._

_Honour yourself._

It wasn’t good and right to burn herself out buying a week for anyone, even if that person was Randi. The mental scream of refusal when she imagined Jisa doing it for Treven…

It wasn’t honouring Randi. He wouldn’t ever consent, and doing it behind his back was its own betrayal.

And it wasn’t, actually, what she wanted.

 _I’m not ready to give up._ Maybe losing him would break her entirely – but maybe she could keep going, broken or not, and do something that _mattered_. Even find a snippet or two of joy along the way. Van had.

Valdemar wasn’t going to stop needing Healers just because they had a new King. And there was something oddly liberating about the idea of going north with the volunteers. Thirteen-year-old Shavri would have leapt at the opportunity.

Maybe they were wrong. Sixteen days, and on top of the appeasing message, there was no sign of his damned army anywhere. There was still a chance that it had been a misunderstanding, and that somehow, some way, Van might be able to bring it to a peaceful end. If he came home, gods, she owed it to him to be there waiting.

And, either way, Shavri wanted to see his path through until the end. He was one of her dearest friends. The father of her child.

Words drifted over her. Rethwellan. They’d gotten an update; Queen Lythiaren would obey the word of the treaty, and send one-quarter of her army, though she had been weaselly on defining ‘active soldiers’. Still, it would give them two thousand additional troops, a quarter of them armoured cavalry, and about fifty combat mages spread between the units.

Fifty mages here, fifty there, nearly sixty from White Winds… A bounty beyond imagining. Just a few months ago, they had thought adding _four_ was a miracle.

Not just mages. Perhaps more significantly, Lythiaren was sending them a hundred Healers, along with the food and supplies promised. A hundred!

Shavri had overheard Treven, in an early meeting, suggesting that the Rethwellani cavalry ride overland east to Sunhame and use the permanent terminus. They were already planning to start moving the Karsite forces through as soon as Karis made it back from the eastern border, which ought to be tomorrow morning.

The idea had been vetoed by Dara, who pointed out that the straight-line distance was exactly as far as that to Valdemar, there were mountains in the way as well, _and_ the most direct route would take them through Menmellith.

It had even been floated that sending Brighstar to lead the fastest ever creation of a Heartstone and permanent Gate might be faster, and involve less annoying weather-magic cleanup, than individually raising the number of temporary Gates they would need. The young Adept had been released earlier that day, finally, after a full fortnight in the House of Healing. He was well enough to care for himself, Featherfire was moving in to help, and Andy thought that being in his own space would do him good.

He wasn’t quite ready for major spellcasting, though, and Jisa thought it was easier to quickly train the White Winds mages on concert Gates, and then have them raise one very _big_ Gate and keep it up long enough for all the troops to cross.

Lissa’s mercenaries ought to be moving tomorrow or the day after. Hopefully by tomorrow, they would have a timeline on Iftel. Shavri had even heard a mention of the Shin’a’in, but she mostly hadn’t been paying attention.

 _Why am I even bothering to chew on this?_ Logistics weren’t her job. Not anymore, never again. Valdemar needed only one more thing of her.

The door creaked open. Shavri didn’t bother to turn; she kept her eyes on Randi. His withered lips, almost bloodless, pursed in thought. Skin almost transparent, stretched over bones, but the most beautiful bones she had ever known.

“Treven?” Dara said. “You’re la– What? Jisa, I thought…”

Hearing the surprise in her voice, Shavri lifted her head.

They both wore Whites. _They look so pretty together,_ she thought, apropos of nothing.

Her eyes went to the coloured ribbon that tied their wrists together, then rose to their matching ear-to-ear grins. _What?_

“Mother, Papa!” Jisa said, sounding almost like she had at seven years old. “We got married!”

Shavri felt her jaw go slack. _You didn’t. I can’t believe it._ Through the lifebond, she felt a pulse of shock from Randi, and she immediately reinforced her Healing-link with him. Just being startled was enough to set his heart labouring dangerously hard.

“You _eloped_?” Dara burst out, arms folded. “Trev! You can’t just _do_ that!”

“Why not?” The smile folded away. “Dara, there’s no time for a state wedding.”

“You’re supposed to consult the Council before you–”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think any of them would complain, and I’d prefer not to waste their time with it. They’ve got more important things to vote on.” He sounded so un-Treven-like, Shavri thought, though his voice was as pleasantly polite as ever.

“So you just…unilaterally went and…” Dara raked both hands though her hair, eyes wild. “What priest went along with that? Who would _dare_?”

“This one.”

The man who stepped forward, throwing back his hood, was a stranger to her, and not young. His robes were plain, and he wore no necklace or sigil, nothing to hint at which temple he served.

Shavri’s mind was still skidding; the sideways blow seemed to have knocked the ground out from under her.

Dara rounded on the priest, eyes glittering dangerously. “And you are?”

“Father Owain.” A bow, humble and unyielding at the same time. “Of the Temple of Astera.”

Not the one that most Heralds attended. It had been Beri’s faith, though, and her daughter had followed her governess around for years.

Dara glared at him. “And why, exactly, did you agree to this?” Her gaze spun back to Treven. “Did you _lie_ to a–”

The priest lifted a hand, gentle, yet commanding enough that Dara cut off, blinking. “I wasn’t tricked. I knew who they were; they told me, and besides, I’ve known Jisa since she was yea high. No one forbade they marry, and it seemed to me there was no reason to deny them that status.”

“No reason?” Dara looked ready to spit poison-darts. “Treven’s duty to Valdemar? If the only way out of a problem is an alliance-marriage?”

Treven stepped forward, tugging Jisa along, and put his arm around her. “Dara, there’s no one. No unwedded female royalty in a single bordering Kingdom, at least not above the age of ten or below forty. Goes for Iftel too, which isn’t a Kingdom at all.” His tone was very mild, but there was a dangerous light in his eyes, that Shavri had never seen in him before. Defiance. “Unless you’re wanting to marry me off to some Tayledras or Shin’a’in bride, or someone all the way from Seejay, or, Havens forbid, Leareth has a daughter–”

Jisa’s eyes twinkled. “I mean, we could posit that he turn shaych and marry _Leareth,_ but I hardly think the Council would approve.”

Dara winced at the comment, but Shavri barely swallowed an entirely inappropriate snicker.

“We’re lifebonded,” Treven said quietly. “Jisa wants to be my consort. Why deny ourselves that happiness for no clear gain?”

Silence.

Dara’s hands twisted. “What did your Companions have to say?”

Treven smiled. “Actually, they helped us. Eren suggested the Temple of Astera. Care to ask Rolan and confirm for yourself?”

For the first time, confusion and doubt nudged aside the anger in Dara’s face.

“In my opinion,” put in the priest, “forcing the lad unwilling into a state marriage, with a partner he cannot ever love, would be blasphemy. A perversion of a rite meant to sanctify. Lifebonding is a rare and sacred thing, and should be treated with reverence. It is one thing to remain unwedded so as to give the appearance of being available, provided it is done for the safety of the realm. It seems to me, however, that to force a young person into an entirely unsuitable marriage when he is already lifebonded is – well, a grave sin.” His gaze dropped. “No disrespect to you or Karis, King Randale. You took on that yoke willingly.”

“Papa, it was different with you and Mother,” Jisa piped in. “Shavri never wanted to rule alongside you. I understand why, and I respect it, but…” And she turned, eyes fixing on Shavri, boring into her. “Mother, we’re not the same person. You gave me the freedom to choose, rather than being forced into the line of succession, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But. I’m _not_ afraid to lead. I want this.” Chin raised, blazing with sincerity, daring Shavri to argue with her.

Shavri held her daughter’s gaze for a long time.

An echo of Terrill’s voice. _We make ourselves slaves._

_Do you want that world for your daughter?_

_Drawing a bright line, and saying that you matter too._

Tears blurred her vision. Not tears of grief. Her throat was choked, so she reached out with a Mindtouch instead. _:I’m so happy for you, pet:_ She couldn’t hide her fear, but she didn’t need to act on it either, and she could find a crumb of joy. One bright moment before the end.

“Jisa.” Randi’s face had gone worryingly pale, but his voice was clear. “Treven. I can’t say I approve of your method, and I would rather you had _warned_ me before putting me in the position of defending you to the Council, but… Congratulations. You deserve that happiness.” A crooked smile. “Though I’m grieved I missed the chance to walk my daughter to her groom.”

“Sorry about that.” Jisa really did look contrite. “We can make it up to you, have a party…”

Dara seemed unsteady on her feet, reeling. “Well. Rolan defended you. And I suppose what’s done is done.”

* * *

Stef couldn’t believe the transformation that just one week had wrought. Once a sleepy border town, Waymeet already felt like a war-camp. What seemed like an entire regiment of the Guard was garrisoned here, their tents pitched over snow-covered fields and pastures, a tail stretching out for almost a mile. Men and women in blue uniforms were everywhere, drilling, carrying supplies, working in groups to drag stones and heft enormous timbers. Barracks and palisades were springing up from nowhere.

There was a Guard-post fifteen miles to the northwest, Stef remembered, but not a large one – another piece of misdirection, hiding their knowledge of the pass’s location. Waymeet had always been the planned staging-ground for this eventuality; their main industry was timber logging, a massive advantage for rapid building. 

It was a risk for the locals, of course, but a boon as well. The innkeeper and merchants had to be making a fortune, and the local farmers would be able to sell their excess winter stores for triple the usual price. Trade of all kind was booming, as caravans of gold, grain, and other supplies poured into the town.

Even more impressively, there was a road north, the beginnings of one at least, driving about three mile through the hilly, uneven terrain. Mage-work, surely, though Stef had passed hundreds of workers labouring to smooth the roadbed in preparation.

The Healers’ station, quiet before, was now packed with new volunteers from down south. There was no panic, though, only a sort of leashed energy.

And the bustle was convenient for his purposes. Stef walked like he knew exactly where he was going, and it worked beautifully – no one paused to question him, and he made it all the way to his destination unmolested.

The Mindhealers’ station, occupying its own corner like in Haven, was quieter. A girl in yellow-trimmed brown robes – an un-Gifted trainee, which was perfect – was writing something on a wall-slate.

Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up, and jumped a little. “Herald…?” she said uncertainly.

Stef took a step forward, holding his shoulders back and his spine erect. “Herald Ubran. I need to speak to Agnetta, please.”

The young woman bobbed her head, shyly avoiding his eyes. “I’ll tell her, mister Herald.” She spoke with a soft-edged country accent.

Stef nodded, and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting. _Gods, I hope this works._

He wore a pair of Vanyel’s Whites, which visibly didn’t fit him, the trews stuffed into his own russet boots; he didn’t have a cloak to go with it, so he had taken off his brown cloak and stashed it in a corner by the door, hoping it would still be there on his return. He had darkened his hair and eyebrows with a mix of soot and animal-fat, helpfully supplied by Aroon, then padded out his middle with fur wrappings, faking a paunch. He didn’t know if he looked a bit like Ubran – one of Katha’s agents, an Empath with no other Gifts, the man been stationed as ambassador to Hardorn for most of the last decade – but at the very least, he didn’t look much like the Bard who had briefly met Agnetta a week earlier.

His Bardic Gift would have to do the rest; humming in his throat without quite making an audible sound, he wrapped himself in a shell of stolid maturity, along with a hint of familiarity, and the firm sense that he was unremarkable, his presence unsurprising.

The plan had come to him in bits and pieces, starting when he was sorting through his saddlebags and found, unexpected, his token from Katha, marking him as one of her agents. He must have shoved it in out of sheer habit; he had never actually used the thing before.

There were three standard points of contact for a spy passing messages home: the nearest Herald on circuit, the local Guard-captain, and the senior Healer in charge of a Border compound. Even Stef lacked the audacity to impersonate a Herald to another Herald, and he was worried that the Guard-commander here would already be briefed on exactly which spies ought to be wandering the area. And, worse, Leareth likely had his own agents in the Guard.

Aroon had given him the idea for the second half of his plan, as he worried himself into knots over the possibility that a letter home would be intercepted by eyes he very much didn’t want to see it. He had mentioned the standard ciphers that Katha used with her agents, but Leareth might well have broken them, and he didn’t have a one-time code.

 _Young singer,_ the neuter had asked him, _is there a trusted friend who might recognize a personal code? Perhaps one that you played with as children._

There was, in fact, exactly such a person. Jisa had taught him Melody’s cipher – he hadn’t known it was that at the time, and possibly would have declined on principle– well, no, he wouldn’t have, but it did feel rather uncircumspect of Jisa. But, it gave him an opportunity.

It seemed unlikely Leareth had infiltrated the tiny Mindhealers’ Collegium – there were, what, a dozen of them total? Mindhealers had precedent for patient confidentiality even between each other. Even if a spy got his hands on their mail, a possibility given that it often went via the same Herald-couriers as other messages, would they really choose to open and read extremely personal details about random patients, which were probably incomprehensible to anyone who wasn’t a Mindhealer anyway?

Even if they did, it would be next to impossible for even the cleverest of scholars to figure out Melody’s cipher from one sample. Unlike the basic letter-substitution code that he had once played at with Medren, or the more complex codes he had learned from Katha, Melody had designed hers over years to serve as a shorthand, entire symbols replacing words.

It wasn’t a _good_ plan. Stef had spent the entire journey here, clinging to Aroon’s back as the _kyree_ raced through the snow, hoping against hope that he would think of something better.

Still, it was a plan at all. It didn’t involve putting Aroon’s life in danger, and it minimized the risk of Leareth finding out about the _kyree_ or Stef’s escape.

“Herald?” The high-pitched voice was politely neutral, and distracted.

Stef turned, keeping his own face controlled. “Agnetta, right? You’re the head of Mindhealers’ over here?”

“I am. Why?”

He reached for his tunic pocket and drew out the engraved silver token, and was rewarded when her eyes widened slightly. Good – it had been a gamble whether or not she had been briefed on Katha’s network, and having to explain it to her in a longer conversation would multiply his chances of screwing it up and giving himself away.

“I realize it’s a bit irregular,” he said, “but I have an urgent message that needs to reach the dean of your Collegium. Discreetly. It’s, er, a delicate situation…” Push through a hint of embarrassment with his Gift.

The cover letter was for Melody. It didn’t mention the sender, and asked only that she pass the second, sealed envelope to Jisa. He trusted Melody’s discretion, but just in case Terrill ended up opening it for some reason and could read her cipher, he didn’t think either of them would open a letter addressed to a different Mindhealer.

With Jisa, he was as clear as he dared. He hadn’t written his name anywhere, but he included a couple of snippets to confirm his identity, things only the two of them would know, and one of the pass-phrases he had once discussed offhand with her, indicating that he wasn’t sending it under duress. Unwilling to mention the _kyree_ in writing, no matter how securely, he had said only that he was safe and with ‘friends’.

“I understand.” Gruff sympathy. Beady eyes rested on him. “Don’t need to know more, young man.”

“Thank you.” He tried to give the two-layered impression of someone sagging in relief while doing their best to hide it, and drew the sealed envelope from under his tunic. “I’d appreciate if it went under your name…”

“Of course. I’ll just stick it in the package with the rest of my correspondence. Don’t you worry.” A smile deepened the folds in her wrinkled-apple cheeks. “You’re in luck, actually, we have a message-drop tonight.”

“A courier?”

She looked smug. “No. Seems we’re important enough to merit our very own mage. Foreign man, doesn’t speak a lick of Valdemaran, but he’s helpful as anything. He’ll be making one of them magic Gates tonight to move over supplies.”

Stef managed, barely, not to look flabbergasted. Unlike him, Herald Ubran wouldn’t have been completely out of touch for the last week.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I won’t ask any more of your time.” He tipped his chin forward. “Agnetta, thank you for all you’re doing for us. You and your people are a precious asset to the Kingdom.”

The glib words accomplished their purpose – she blushed, ducking her head. “Why, thank you, Herald.”

“I’d best be going now.” And he turned and made his stately escape, still trying to radiate boring adultness.

 _I can’t believe that worked._ He had been counting on Agnetta being busy and distracted, and sticking to the usual standard of not using her Sight without consent. If she had used her Gifts, she would have seen through his deception instantly.

…If that had happened, he supposed he would have thrown himself on her mercy and confessed everything. Which might have been a relief, actually. _I could use a few candlemarks with a sympathetic Mindhealer._

It was his third day with the _kyree_ , and he had woken in tears every morning, his arms curled around the empty space where Van wasn’t. _I miss you, ashke_. All knew was that Vanyel was alive. Leareth might be torturing his lifebonded right now, and here Stef was, taking forever to come up with any plan. He felt like a useless coward, and he itched to do something, anything, the impatience eating at him, but the same went for him as for Randi; he couldn’t afford haste. With no hope of winning via force, all he had was guile, and he wasn’t exactly feeling clever.

It was an incredible relief that the Healers apparently had a dedicated mage; it had to be someone from White Winds, all the Baires mages spoke Valdemaran and he didn’t think any of them were proficient with Gates. That would make up for some of his delay; if he was lucky, Jisa would have the message by tonight.

…And then what? He hadn’t given her his exact location, out of paranoia that Leareth’s spies might follow any Heralds Randi sent to look for them – he had said only that he was near Waymeet, and had suggested a particular secluded location as a message drop, one that Aroon had helped him locate. A long-abandoned barn, part of an equally abandoned farm that lay a half mile from where the road ended, at the end of a barely passable game-trail, overgrown and too dangerously rotted to be worth repurposing as barracks. No one else was likely to go there. 

Damn it, why couldn’t he just be a Mindspeaker? He was spoiled, used to Van’s Gifts making everything easier. How were they possibly going to succeed at coordinating?

One step at a time.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly early, but it's already Thursday in lots of places, ok

Vanyel jolted to awareness.

 _Where…oh._ Still a prisoner. Fear rose. He tamped it down. Stay calm. Endure. The loop had worn its way deep into his thoughts by now.

Something was different. Below the neck, his sense of his body was hopelessly snarled, and his sense of balance insisted he was free-falling, but he could feel his face almost normally. Incredible, how much that helped with the awful disorientation.

Turning his head slightly, he could feel a pillow under his neck, and the soft edge of what might be a blanket. Just the touch, not swirling into sounds and colours. Faint rainbows still danced against his closed eyelids, but they were only there, not bizarrely stirred into everything else, and much less distracting. His hearing, too, seemed to be mostly working. He could make out his own breathing, and a murmur of distant voices, too low to make out words.

Hopeful, he reached for his mage-gift – and slammed into the familiar barrier. His bond with Yfandes was still cut off as well, though she was still alive, he would have known if that bond had been ripped out by the roots.

The lifebond…

He couldn’t feel much. A minute trickle filtered through a screen, not nearly enough to pick up emotions, much less thoughts, but there.

 _Stef._ His lover was alive.

He recalled no indication that the fighters who had ambushed him had even noticed his lifebonded, and dared to hope.

_Stef._

He wasn’t there, but Vanyel could still imagine what he would say, and take comfort from it. _You bide your time, Van-ashke._ That sad, fierce little smile, so indescribably Stef, a thousand years too old for his face. _If he was stupid enough not to kill you when he had the chance, he deserves what he’s got coming._

Leareth had modified the spell – or, perhaps more likely, Mindhealing working – that was keeping him captive. Maybe introduced a flaw. Vanyel flung himself at the barrier with all his will, again and again. Testing the walls of his mental prison.

Still impregnable.

Vanyel forced himself to relax and lie still, taking stock. Cautiously, he tested his other Gifts, one by one. Farsight was blocked, so was Fetching, Firestarting, Empathy–

When he reached for Thoughtsensing, though, the barricade yielded just a little. A single drip, compared to what had once been a river; right now, he could probably Mindspeak about as well as Randi.

Straining through that tiny keyhole, he expanded his awareness, feeling for minds. There were two. Yards away, he couldn’t guess if it was two or ten, but close. With his newly limited senses, it was like squinting through a dirty windowpane at a foggy night.

Daring to open his eyes, Vanyel found he could make out shapes, though they insisted on wiggling like jelly, and he kept feeling like they were somehow in a tiny distant window, _below_ him rather than, presumably, above – it was dizzying.

Stone blocks. A corner. A lantern, haloed in rainbows.

A robed figure, turned away from him, speaking to someone else out of sight.

He quickly closed his eyes again, feigning sleep. More of his mind was open to him now, he could think almost normally, but he was still utterly helpless. Not a feeling he was used to, and with more space to feel emotions, the anger rose. _You promised me safe passage._ Remarkable how much that betrayal stung, even after all the rest.

And yet he couldn’t quite repress a note of grudging respect. He had been so vigilant, and even so Leareth had gotten to him, and before they had even crossed the mountains.

What did Leareth _want?_ It was baffling. Here he was, restrained, defenceless…and, as far as he could tell, Healed of his injuries and otherwise unharmed. Leareth wasn’t at all the kind of enemy who would keep him alive to gloat. Which meant there was a strategic reason.

To hold him hostage, demand concessions from Valdemar?

Or, Haven’s forbid, did he just want to talk?

Vanyel wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The concept that Leareth might have pinned him down so neatly – a project that had surely taken copious resources and effort, even for him – to arrange a safe little chat…

Was there anything left to talk about?

Of course, he might just have wanted to drag out everything Vanyel knew of Valdemar’s defences before killing him. Except, it would surely have been far more straightforward to have a strong Thoughtsenser ransack Vanyel’s mind, and the experience of being deep-scanned was unforgettable. _Maybe_ a skilled Mindhealer could have done it and then blocked off the memory, but as Melody had once discussed with him, it would be next to impossible to do that without the gap being noticeable, or to erase all the signs that his mind had been invaded. With someone else, maybe they could pull it off. Not him. Vanyel was intimately familiar with how a block felt from the inside.

He might as well run the checks she had taught him. Some relied on having full access to his Gifts, but not all.

Vanyel focused on the feeling of breath in his nostrils, slipping into a light trance, and then let his mind wander. Follow the logic of his thoughts, watch it from the outside… The chains flowed naturally, with no noticeable pull of redirects.

Recalling a memory tended to change it, even if the memory-of-remembering had been erased. Checking particular memories for differences was riskier, but he had enough Thoughtsensing back that he was pretty sure he would notice someone else passively observing his surface thoughts. Just in case, he held only the beginnings of a dozen or so memories that he expected an interrogator would definitely have wanted.

Nothing was noticeably distorted. It was possible that he had been read by someone skilled beyond what he could imagine, but if he had been asked to bet on it, to his own surprise he would have wagered that Leareth had, so far, left his mind alone.

_I don’t understand._

Footsteps.

Vanyel held himself still, keeping his breathing relaxed.

A voice – female, he thought, but deep enough that he wasn’t sure – right on the verge of being able to make out words.

Another voice, this time a baritone, closer; the syllables were clear. Most of it was gibberish to him, but a few snippets stood out, words he felt like he ought to recognize.

He felt air moving on his face, then sudden pressure on his cheek.

“Herald Vanyel.” The woman’s voice was accented but understandable. “Can you open your eyes?”

For a moment he considered refusing on principle and ignoring her, but there wasn’t much point. He lifted his eyelids. Again, his entire field of view seemed to be confined to a smallish box, but he could make out her face, peering at him.

 _Where can she possibly be from?_ He had never seen anyone who looked like her before. Her skin was incredibly dark, almost true black. Her hair, though, was white – she was an Adept, he guessed, who used nodes heavily – and with a tight-curled texture he had never seen before either, hugging her head like sheep’s wool. Her teeth and the whites of her eyes stood out sharply in that dark face, her irises a deep blue. The cast of her features wasn’t entirely dissimilar to the Shin’a’in, but flatter and broader, less hawk-like.

“Can you speak?” she went on.

Again, it didn’t seem like there was much point in refusing. He swallowed. “Where am I?” he started – or tried to, it came out very garbled, and she looked blankly at him. Drawing saliva into his mouth, he tried again, more successfully. “Who are you?” he added.

“You are in one of Leareth’s strongholds, north of the mountains. I am called Nayoki.”

Again, he had to concentrate to make his lips obey him. “You work for Leareth–” His dry throat tickled, and he broke off into a cough.

Another figure stepped around the woman; he was significantly shorter than her, Vanyel noticed. He made eye contact with Vanyel. “I am Sunfish k'Leshya. Are you thirsty?”

Vanyel stared at him, unsure if his jaw was hanging open in amazement.

K’Leshya. The Lost Clan. The man _did_ look very similar to the Kaled’a’in in Ravenwing’s memories. He suddenly had a thousand questions.

Not the time. “Yes.”

It was still difficult to tell what they were doing to his body, but he seemed to be in an articulated cot similar to Randi’s day-bed, and Sunfish lifted the angle of his head and shoulders, carefully not touching him. The man held a cup to his lips, cautiously giving him just a little water at a time.

It eased his scratchy throat, and the thirst he hadn’t quite recognized. “Thank you.” No reason not to be courteous.

“You are welcome, Herald Vanyel.” A deep nod, and the man slipped away.

Nayoki came closer, waiting.

Vanyel met her eyes. _Center and ground._ It felt very weird doing the familiar motion with his body so scattered, but he could. “I gather Leareth wants to speak to me.”

“When you are ready.”

Was he ready?

It would be one of the highest-stakes conversations of his life. Maybe he ought to take more time to think about it.

Then again, he had done plenty of thinking. During his journey with Stef, and in the days, months, and years before it. _This is what I’ve been preparing for my whole life._

To his own surprise, Vanyel felt calm. The chilled resignation of the ice-dream was with him. His situation was dire, but, in some ways, that simplified everything.

“I’m ready,” he said.

At his new angle, he could see more of the room, and he was getting used to the faint background distortions in his vision. Underground, he suspected – there were no windows, and it had that feel. The cool white light must come from mage-lights out of his line of sight. No doors, either; well, there was a sort of recessed doorway, but it was filled in with the same stone blocks.

A permanent Gate-terminus? Without mage-sight, he couldn’t tell, but he wondered.

Leareth wasn’t taking any chances. Even if Vanyel had been able to somehow regain enough control of his limbs to disable his guards, with his Gifts blocked he had no way out.

Nayoki moved out of his line of sight, and then returned, her footsteps accompanied by the dull clatter of what he suspected was wheels on stone – his guess was confirmed when she pulled a large metal frame into view, as tall as a man. It supported a hoop, over a yard across, made of some crystalline substance that glowed faintly.

She set it up at the foot of his cot, so that he had a clear view of the circle, and then laid her hand on it.

…Was it something like a permanent scrying-spell, set on a mage-focus? Fascinating. He longed to examine it with his Othersenses, and couldn’t.

Nayoki laid one dark-skinned hand on the crystal, and closed her eyes.

The inside of the circle flashed white, and then faded, resolving into another stone-walled room.

Leareth stood centered in the frame, visible from the waist up. He wore dark clothing, but no cloak, and his head and hands were bare, jet-black hair falling past his shoulders.

Vanyel was surprised at the wave of emotion that rose, seeing that long-familiar face. The fear and anger were there, but relief as well, and wary respect, and – _gods, am I really still glad to see him? After everything?_

“Herald Vanyel,” Leareth said, black eyes like still water.

* * *

Jisa leaned back against the stone wall, slipping out of the meld. “Farlek, that was excellent. Very good. You can take a rest.” She certainly needed one; she had been going since dawn, stopping only to bolt down a cold lunch, and she was frazzled. It was tempting to step outside the shields and Mindtouch Treven, but he was probably busy.

Treven. Her husband. She was married. _My husband mine mine mine –_ she wanted to run around the entire city screaming it to every passerby.

Dara had forgiven them readily enough, after the initial shock, and the Council had let it slide as well. Treven was right; this was the best time to ask for forgiveness rather than permission, when everyone had far more urgent priorities.

She missed him, and there was nothing she could do about it, because duty called; he had to be elsewhere, and she had to be here, wrangling almost sixty White Winds mages, most of them twice or three times her age. It had seemed a lot more exciting in the abstract.

She closed her eyes. Just for a moment, before she tried with one of the others.

The door to the Work Room creaked open. “Jisa?”

Spinning on her heels, Jisa almost snarled. “Jeren, didn’t anyone ever teach you to _knock_? I’m busy.” She had clearly informed Melody that she wasn’t available for shifts at Mindhealers’ – though she had forgotten to cancel her on-call shift last night, and of course the Healers weren’t cleared to know about her current occupations. They had woken her shortly after midnight, and Treven too; she had been sharing his bed, since after all they were _MARRIED_ now. Afterward she had snapped at the Healers to please ruin Jeren’s sleep instead if they needed anything else, and collapsed into her old bed in Mother’s suite, rather than trek back to the Collegium and risk waking her husband a second time.

“I’m sorry.” Jeren flinched. “Melody wants you to come over when you have a minute. She said it’s not a patient, and – that you’d want to be interrupted for it.”

Jisa groaned. She was tempted to refuse, but…well, Melody wouldn’t impose on her time lightly, and now she was curious.

“Farlek,” she said, catching the young man’s eye. “You’ve pretty much got the hang of it. Can I have you take over for a while, work with the others?” She had been drilling the eighteen Adepts on concert Gates, using one of Savil’s miniature termini. They weren’t having an easy time with it; despite their excellent control, White Winds mages didn’t do as much concert work as she was used to from the Tayledras, and used Gates sparingly. 

“My pleasure.”

She followed Jeren out of Sandra’s old Work Room, back out into the snowy dusk – gods, she had lost track of time in the windowless Work Room, and the first stars were already appearing.

With a dozen White Winds mages weather-working every day of the last six, it had _finally_ stopped snowing, giving the Palace workers a chance to clear the paths. Unfortunately, the clear sky came at the price of a wicked cold snap. Moving fingers concealed in her pocket, Jisa discreetly pushed energy into the heat-spell on her cloak.

“Jisa.” It was a relief to hear Melody’s mild voice, and to see her broad face and darting hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She rose, freeing her hips from the armchair. “Come with me a minute, please.”

Jisa lifted her hand and ducked over to the chava station, sparing ten seconds to pour herself a cup, the followed her once-teacher into one of the unused side rooms.

Melody passed her a sealed letter. It bore her name, written in a large, square hand, as though by a young child – or, perhaps, to make the handwriting deliberately unrecognizable.

“This came enclosed in a very short, unsigned letter addressed to me,” Melody said. “It was in Agnetta’s packet, but it’s not in her hand, and it was in my personal cipher.” Narrowed eyes turned on Jisa. “Not many people know it. Agnetta doesn’t. Shavri does a little, but she’s right here in Haven. Even Terrill and Jeren never bothered to learn. _You_ did.” Her eyes flashed to the window and back. “I won’t ask you to tell me who you taught, but I will say that I’m rather miffed.”

Jisa looked away. There were three other people she had showed it to. Treven. Brightstar, though he wasn’t good at it, he was so hopeless with languages.

And Stef.

Heat rose in her throat, a mix of anticipating and fear. She swallowed hard, keeping her face as neutral as she could manage. “What did the cover letter say?”

“Very little. That the other envelope contained a private, confidential message for your eyes only, and that I please give it to you immediately.”

Jisa’s pulse was picking up, jumping in her ears. “When would it’ve been sent?”

Melody blinked, owlish. “Earlier today.”

“From Waymeet?” That was a five-day journey even by Companion, which meant – oh. “Did the mage we sent arrive already?” Treven had agreed to dispatch several of the Master mages the day after their arrival, to get started helping with their logistics. Including Gates for transporting volunteers, and sealed messages too sensitive for the relay. Jisa wouldn’t have felt one, having spent all afternoon in the damned Work Room with her new charges.

Melody’s nod confirmed it. “Well. Are you going to open it?”

There was a singing pressure in her ears. Her face felt hot. “Could I have some privacy, please?”

Her teacher’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t comment, just stepped out of the room and closed the door.

Jisa sank into one of the plush armchairs, chava in one hand, letter in the other. It was very familiar-looking paper, she thought. In fact, exactly like letters _she_ had sent, using the same standard Collegium supplies. Good paper, a smooth matte surface, stiff enough to hold a crisp fold, thick enough not to let ink bleed through the backside.

She remembered clucking her tongue at Stef failing to pack more than the few blank papers he must have grabbed from the desk, which would last Van a day if he kept up his usual note-taking pace. She had carefully packed the store from her own desk, along with her best quill-pen and a jar of ink, tenderly padding them inside one of Van’s shirts.

The wax seal was unmarked. Holding her breath, she broke it, and unfolded the sheet.

It too was in Melody’s cipher. Jisa wasn’t proficient enough to read it unthinkingly; she would have to translate it word-by-word. The hand, though, was familiar.

Stef.

Jisa’s breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut. _:Enara:_

Her Companion flowed into her mind. _:…Oh, Chosen:_ A wash of love and reassurance, not quite blotting out the worry that surged underneath. _:Steady. I’m here:_

* * *

The door clicked shut behind Lissa’s back. Randi didn’t bother to turn his head. “Report?”

Shavri couldn’t blame him for the curt greeting; it was past sundown, and he was worn out. Treven had been dispatched to meet General Lissa Ashkevron at the Gate and walk her over; knowing him, he had already covered all the requisite hospitality.

Lissa didn’t look like someone who had just spent all day wrangling almost two thousand bodies through a Gate-terminus that had never been designed to transport armies. Her blue uniform was crisp, her eyes alert.

Need hung at her hip. Shavri felt a pang of relief. She had _missed_ Need.

Lissa bowed, and then matched the King’s terse tone. “Thirteen companies. Seventeen hundred bodies. We’re missing around a hundred who hadn’t reached Mournedealth yet when the Gate went up, but the captains padded it out with some last-minute recruiting. Means they’re not all experienced, but we’ll be drilling them to work with our forces anyway.” A pause. “Unfortunately not all of their supplies and weapons caught up in time, so we’ll need to equip them.”

 _We can lean on Lythiaren for that_ , Shavri thought, before remembering that the logistics weren’t her problem to solve.

Her eyes kept going to Need.

“Excellent work,” Randi said. “Thank you. Speak to Keiran about the details. Where’s Nani?”

“Still in Sunhame. Says she’ll be fine to use the permanent threshold alone. I figured you’d want a report sooner rather than later.” Lissa shifted her weight. “Shavri, would you like Need back? She’s, um, antsy.”

A surge of longing, but she wrestled it down. “I think she’d better go with Dara or Jisa.” Given that she was approximately glued to this room.

The temptation was hard to resist, though. Shavri wasn’t sure why the sword’s snappish manner was so comforting, but it was.

 _Surely I’ve earned this one thing._ “I do see them often,” she corrected, “and you ought to go get some rest. Why don’t I take her in the meantime?”

“Fine by me. She’s driving me up the wall.” Pacing across the room, Lissa undid the belt and held it out. “Here. At least she can talk to you.”

Need could talk to the un-Gifted just fine, Shavri thought – she was like Companions that way. Though like them, she seemed to save it for emergencies.

Some indefinable tension in her gut unwound as her fingers wrapped around the hilt.

 _:Don’t you dare get sentimental on me, woman:_ Need’s mindvoice was gruff. And Lissa hadn’t exaggerated; the sword was restless, yanking on something deep in Shavri’s core, but it wouldn’t come clear.

 _:Stop that:_ Shavri sent, as firmly as she could. _:Need, what’s bothering you?:_

 _:Don’t have a bloody clue:_ The unease sharpened. _:I’ve got the heebie-jeebies, is all:_ A gusty mental sigh. _:Guess there is a goddamned war going on. For all we know, your madman Leareth is torture-murdering dozens of women for blood-power right now:_

Shavri flinched. _:Need, please:_ That really, really wasn’t a visual she needed.

_:I’m sorry:_

Shavri was surprised; Need almost never apologized.

 _:By the Twain, Healer, you’ve got more than enough on your plate:_ The sensation of someone ruffling her hair, squeezing her shoulder. _:I’m not heartless. And, well, your Randi isn’t a bad specimen of his sex:_

Shavri chuckled, even though she felt like weeping. _:Thank you for that ringing endorsement:_

* * *

Matching Leareth’s unruffled expression, Vanyel looked him in the eye, even as his mind tallied up observations. When the man spoke, his voice tickled against Vanyel’s mostly-obstructed Thoughtsensing channels as well as his ears, though no overtones came with it; whatever the strange device was, it seemed to have some resemblance to a teleson. Interesting. The reason they had allowed him even that fragment of his Gifts?

“Where is Yfandes?” he heard himself say.

“Your Companion is safe and unharmed.”

Which was all he was likely to get. “You know,” Vanyel said, conversationally, “I would be within my rights to be very angry with you. You promised me safe passage.”

Leareth’s chin tipped forward by a hair, acknowledging the point, but his eyes never left Vanyel’s face. “I did not harm you, though I could have done so.”

“I’m not physically hurt,” Vanyel said, “but I would consider having my Gifts blocked and my body paralyzed to be ‘harm’. Not to mention being ambushed by two dozen mercenaries. That _did_ hurt, actually, if you’re curious.” 

“Yes. I apologize. For what it is worth, their orders were to first attempt speaking to you peacefully, but given your battlefield history, I cannot fault you for striking first when startled.”

 _Had_ he been the first to strike? It was too much of a blur in his memory to be sure.

“Given the circumstances of your journey,” Leareth said, “I could not take for granted your intentions. And I judged it necessary that we speak, urgently, thus the more extreme measures to render this conversation safe.”

“Safe for exactly one of us,” Vanyel pointed out.

Leareth’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “I give you my word I will not harm you. I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

 _Inconvenience._ Vanyel almost laughed.

“I cannot ask that you believe me on faith,” Leareth said. “Yet, I swear to you, by the light of every star, that I did not strike at your Kingdom.”

Vanyel held his gaze, unflinching. “I don’t know what to believe, yet. But…I’ll hear you out.”

A hint of a smile.

Which Vanyel returned. “You could kill me anytime. Since I’m still alive, I gather you don’t want to. You’ve tried very hard to give us a safe way to talk, and I can understand why; I have the trust of my King, and if you can _actually_ convince me that this wasn’t you, I can stop this war in its tracks.”

Maybe. If Randi was still willing to listen.

Vanyel breathed in and out. _Center and ground._ “And, Leareth? What I said a couple of years ago still stands. I want to trust you, truly. If and only if you’re trustworthy.”

Silence.

Leareth inclined his head. “We shall speak, then.” Impassive black eyes rested on him. “First. Nayoki is a Mindhealer and a Thoughtsenser. It is against her precepts to read thoughts, so she has not. However, in her work modifying the spellblock she designed for me, she did remark on the structure of your mind.”

He paused. Vanyel could guess exactly where this was going, but he said nothing, and kept his face relaxed. So she was both a mage and a Mindhealer, like Lancir.

Or Jisa.

“She tells me you are lifebonded,” Leareth went on. “A second lifebond, rooted in the void left by the first. I surmise your partner is Bard Stefen.”

Vanyel kept his face still; it was easier right now, actually, with his muscles not quite working. It wasn’t _that_ surprising that Leareth’s spies might have heard inklings of their relationship, if only thanks to Mother’s gossip, and even if Leareth hadn’t inferred the rest earlier, he could put the pieces together now.

A flicker of Leareth’s eyelids, almost apologetic. “I will not ask you of his location or any other details.” A pause. “For what it is worth, I am pleased for you.”

Vanyel said nothing.

“Returning to our current dilemma,” Leareth said. “I stand accused of two crimes. Neither appears to accomplish _any_ legible goal, much less my goals in particular.”

 _We’re all confused._ “Yes and no,” Vanyel said. “The picture doesn’t fit, which means we’re missing something from our map. Could be that you didn’t do it, and there’s some other actor out there. Maybe a god, even. But the other explanation is that I’ve been wrong about what sort of person you are from the beginning. I’ve known all along that you could be fooling me; you’ve acknowledged it, even. It…rings false…but it would, wouldn’t it? In the world where you’re a skilled enough player to pull off that act, you can and did trick all my emotions in the process, and even the true information you give me might make me more wrong about the world rather than less.”

Silence.

“And so you no longer trust your ability to reason from my words, or your impression of my character,” Leareth said, almost sadly. “To shield yourself in that way is a dangerous move. It protects you from falsehood and truth alike.”

“Not fully, no. I’m still listening to it, but…I have to look at it from the outside too. Recognize that I might be compromised. And now that you’ve kidnapped me, you’ve had other avenues to – influence my mind. I don’t like it either.”

Leareth actually bowed his head for a moment. “I confess, Herald Vanyel, I have never felt so helpless.”

Vanyel’s lips twitched despite himself. “You’ve never spent decades trying to dance around an enemy who’s much cleverer than you, only to be kidnapped by them anyway. Though, you might be overconfident. There are gods wandering about, you keep mentioning that, and you’re not one of them. Yet.” He breathed in and out. “Anyway. Give me your arguments for why the plots were stupid and you wouldn’t have done them.”

Leareth’s eyes turned, looking at something past the angle of the circle, and then returned. “I doubt the plots were stupid at all; I expect they served someone’s goals rather well. I can only guess at whose, since I do not have full details on the attacks, particularly the second in k’Treva. I do know it happened deep within the territory of the Star-Eyed Goddess, where you know I cannot operate.”

 _I have only your word for it._ And _someone_ was responsible. Jisa had named the other possibility, the obvious one in a way, but it still felt beyond plausibility, that Starwind and Moondance’s Goddess would destroy them and everyone else in k’Treva, just for…what? To kick off a war that had been almost certain to happen anyway?

There wasn’t much point in holding back, Vanyel thought, after a moment of consideration. If Leareth had done it, he obviously knew already, and if he hadn’t done it, then he was trying to cooperate.

“Someone destabilized the Heartstone,” Vanyel said, wearily. “It lost containment and took out everything alive within ten miles.”

Leareth’s eyes widened just a sliver, his lips tightening. “That is possible?”

From him, that reaction might as well have been a scream. It was a very convincing impression of startled horror, Vanyel admitted, but that didn’t matter. Not when one of his theories, perhaps the most likely one, was that Leareth could lie perfectly in words and manner. “Yes. It’s not hard, to do on purpose, but it had to be done from the inside. We assumed you turned one of k’Treva’s Adepts.”

A flicker of the man’s arched black brow. “The Tale’edras are pact-bound to Her, and a Heartstone is a fragment of the Star-Eyed. A Vale is where She has the most power to stop my interference. Which is why I would not attempt it.”

Vanyel couldn’t actually disagree – he hadn’t named those objections so clearly in his own thoughts, before, but the tripping-feeling had been there, and now Leareth had pinned it down.

A faint smile. “I have evaded the gods’ meddling by choosing my battles. I might have accomplished my aim centuries ago, could I defy the gods so boldly on Their home ground. And even if it were within my capabilities – I am somewhat flattered you think it is – I could have caused greater damage to your cause in far less costly ways.”

…Which was a reasonably compelling point. It would have to be _inefficient_ , for Leareth to move in Pelagirs territory where the Star-Eyed held the most power, even if he could pull it off at all.

He couldn’t trust the man’s arguments. And yet. Leareth was right, that refusing to trust any of his reasoning was just as dangerous a blinder to wear.

“Had I an agent among the Tale’edras,” the man added, “I would find much greater value in maintaining that in-road.”

Vanyel had thought the same thing, and couldn’t object. “Then give me a compelling alternate theory,” he said quietly. “Because I agree, it doesn’t make much sense for you to have done it, but nothing else makes any sense at all.”

“The obvious is the Star-Eyed Herself.”

Of course. “Why?” Vanyel said sharply, though he could guess Leareth’s next words. “She has the power, sure, but not the motive.”

“To instigate war between us.”

“By murdering Her own people? And weakening our forces substantially in the process? The same goes for her as for you; she could have alarmed us more by cheaper means. Leareth, even if She did want to spook us into attacking, it was _overkill._ The strike at Queen Karis was plenty. We were already preparing. She could have made it look like a plot by a northern bloodpath mage who answered to you – I know you have those agents. If the Star-Eyed had nudged one of them down a particular route…” Which She had done before, Krebain was proof of that, he might have answered to Leareth once but it was neither in his power nor his interests to set up the series of coincidences that had led to Vanyel being the gods’ most powerful pawn. “It could’ve been very convincing. Why would She pick a scheme that has all of us confused and suspicious, when she could have arranged something that no one would question?”

“I do not know.” Leareth lifted a hand and let it fall. “The gods see further than mortals, and often act in ways opaque to us.”

 _That’s the opposite of an explanation._ Leareth wasn’t wrong, but ‘the gods work in mysterious ways’ was a fully general argument that could be applied anywhere and to anything.

“I am confused also,” Leareth said, carefully choosing each word. “And worried. I did not expect this, meaning that in your words, there is a piece missing from my map.”

“I don’t disagree.” Vanyel tried not to shiver. “Leareth, if you’re telling the truth, something is really badly wrong. I want to get to the bottom of this too.”

* * *

“Leareth’s got Father,” Jisa said flatly.

They were in Brightstar’s quarters. One of the most secure places in the Palace to speak unheard, even more so than the royal suite; the other options would have been Van’s rooms, which was disrespectful, or Savil’s rooms, which was morbid. Her brother had been sent home by the Healers’ the day before, though he didn’t have his full strength back yet, and she wasn’t sure if his easy grin would ever return.

Featherfire was out, drilling some kind of Animal Mindspeech maneuver with the Guard. It was just the four of them: herself, Treven, Dara, and Brighstar. Trev had agreed that whether or not he was a Herald, the Healing-Adept had a right to know.

Three pairs of eyes stared at her. Shock, horror, reflexive denial. She gave them a moment. Let it sink in.

Jisa, for her part, was calm, her White Winds training kicking in. Fear and anger would only weaken her, right now. She needed a clear head, so she had taken a whole half-candlemark to sit with Enara in the Companions’ Stables and go through her trance-exercises, until she was able to recognize the emotions, respect them, and set them aside, before tracking down Dara. Picking up Need in the process, though that part had been an accident.

She was grateful beyond belief for the sword’s presence, even if Need hadn’t been much help so far – she was restless, tugging in no particular direction.

Could it be related? But Van wasn’t a woman…

Jisa was so confused. About everything. It felt like Leareth sending a polite message, and Leareth kidnapping her father, were two pieces that pushed in opposite direction, but they had observably both happened. It was evidence that the message had been a lie…and, at the same time, it hinted that whatever his reasons for snatching Van, they might not be hostile.

She had to hold both of those possibilities open in her mind, despite the painful uncertainty, her mind struggling to resolve it one way or another; she didn’t yet know which of those worlds they were in.

Father needed her. _I won’t fail you._

“Stef sent a message,” she went on. “I won’t tell you how,” she wasn’t about to compromise his spycraft, “but it was very secure.” Clever. Not a method she would have thought of. “He didn’t want anyone finding out by mistake. Not just because it would cause a panic, but…he thinks Leareth doesn’t know he’s looking for Van, or about the ‘friends’ he’s with. Who I’m guessing are Tayledras scouts he bumped into, since they know the location of the pass.”

Remarkably lucky, that they would have been nearby. _Should I be suspicious?_ Though a messy fight would have been visible to any mage within miles, and Stef could have been carrying Van’s talisman.

Treven found his voice first. “Any details on how Van was taken?”

“They were ambushed. Stef didn’t see it, but from the traces they left, his friends think at least twenty soldiers, and maybe ten mages. There were residues of death-energy, so he killed some.” Not enough. “They dragged him and Yfandes off, unconscious, and then took him through a Gate to who-knows-where.”

No one spoke.

 _:Jisa:_ A whisper of private Mindspeech from her brother, shielding out even Need. _:The friends he speaks of are not my people:_

She tightened her own directional shields. _:What do you mean?:_

 _:It was not the Tayledras who scouted the pass:_ Hesitation and worry in his mindvoice. _:I kept my father’s secret, and yet I think the time for secrets between us is long past. Do you remember White Rock Clan?:_

 _:The kyree?:_ she sent blankly. _:They visited k’Treva once. They’re neat:_

She felt his surge of grief as she said the name of his home, and winced, but he went on calmly. _:Their visit was not merely for pleasure. Months earlier, Stef had befriended a different Clan. In the north. We passed a message, and it was they who saw through the concealment on the pass. Their magic is different:_

She tried not to scowl. _:You never told me!:_

 _:Even your papa does not know:_ Brightstar sent. _:The kyree are a secretive folk. Stef wished to respect that. Nonetheless, it seems relevant:_

She agreed. _:So you think he’s with a kyree clan. Do you know which one, or where? Or how to contact them?:_

 _:No:_ He ducked his head. _:It was my…parents…whom they spoke to:_ His mindvoice only faltered a little.

The other two must have noticed her silent conversation, but neither had interrupted. Should she tell them? If Van had kept it a secret even from the King… Probably something she ought to consider for longer than thirty seconds. Given that her brother had no way to reach them, it didn’t change their current priorities all that much. 

_:Thank you, Brightstar:_ Keep moving. Jisa glanced down at her page of notes. “Before you ask, I know it was him, and that he’s free. He didn’t put down his name, but he gave some anecdotes that only the two of us know.” Tales from their time in k’Treva, which made her heart ache now, and must have pained him to write as well. “He used a sign we talked about once, to show he’s not being coerced or threatened.”

“He could be under compulsion,” Dara pointed out.

“Compulsions don’t work that way _,_ ” Jisa shot back. “People fight them. They’ll follow the letter of it but resist in passive ways. And it would take a major deep-scan to pull the phrase out of his head so they could directly order him to use it. Not impossible, but it would be a huge amount of effort. Besides, if Leareth _did_ compromise Stef, he’d have better uses for him than a sneaky message through Mindhealers’.”

Besides, according to the Web, Van had only left Valdemar about three days ago. The kidnapping had to have happened after he crossed the Border, and it didn’t seem like even Leareth could take Stef north, rip the relevant knowledge from his mind, and send him all the way back to Waymeet in time. The town was several days’ ride from the Border, and an unauthorized Gate inside Valdemar would have been detected.

Nods all around.

What else. “Stef thinks they’ve blocked the lifebond somehow. He knows Van isn’t dead, but he can’t pick up anything.” She couldn’t think how, lifebonds ran so deep, but evidently it was possible. “Oh, and he didn’t say where he is, but he gave us a way to leave messages.”

Silence.

Treven was the first to find his voice. “What do we _do_?”

“We tell Papa.” Which would require bringing Shavri in as well. “It’ll be his call what to do then, of course, but…I think we should tell as few people as possible. If Stef still has surprise on his side, we shouldn’t risk sending Leareth hunting for him.”

“Surely we have to tell a rescue mission who they’re rescuing–”

Dara interrupted him. “Then we need to think really, really carefully about who goes on that mission. Who can we absolutely trust?”

Not the White Winds mages, Jisa thought dully. Certainly not the Icefoxes, or the other mercenary troops soon to be joining them. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to bring someone like Nubia in on this.

Treven leaned back against the wall. “You’re going to hate me, but I have to say it.” His face had gone mask-like. “Should we? Send a rescue mission, I mean. I don’t know that we’ve got any hope of pulling him out.”

Brightstar surged up on his cushion. “We must!”

“It would be awful not to.” Blue eyes met silver. “I don’t think Randi would accept it, and it’s his decision, he is still King.” A flash of relief that he couldn’t quite conceal. “Just, it does seem pretty doomed, right, and if all we’re going to do is waste lives and reveal our capabilities to Leareth…”

Jisa grunted at the sudden, sharp tug in her midsection. Everyone’s eyes turned on her.

She held up a hand. “A moment.” _:Need. What:_

 _:I don’t know!:_ Frustration, uncertainty.

_:But it’s got to be–:_

_:Don’t teach an old woman to suck eggs, girl. I know. It must be related, but it’s so goddamned vague:_

Still. It certainly seemed like she was being pulled to aid Van or Stef.

 _:Or Yfandes:_ Need pointed out. _:She is a woman, horse-shaped or not, and in a desperate plight:_ A pause. _:Oh, I suppose do sometimes find myself Called to aid men who, well, share my daughters’ tastes. Occasionally I’ve had such a bearer, even:_

 _:Huh, really? Weird:_ Jisa opened her eyes. Looked around. “Need’s getting a pull. Whatever Foresight-thing she has for finding women in need, it’s really unhelpful until she gets there, Dara knows that. But we already know what way to ride.”

No one said anything.

Jisa sighed, and added the obvious conclusion, apparently not obvious to the others. “She might be able to lead us to him.” A breath, in and out. “Well. Me. I would take Brightstar, but he’s not ready – sorry, Brightstar, you aren’t – and we mustn’t delay.”

“You’re not saying…” Treven goggled at her. “ _You_ want to go?”

“Need can’t go by herself. I suppose we could ask for a volunteer from White Winds–”

 _:I’m not letting you fob me off on a bloody stranger:_ Need sent sharply, this time including all of them. _:I need one of my true bearers for this:_

Dead silence.

“So my mother or Dara are the only other choices,” Jisa said quietly. “Dara, no offence, but you don’t have offensive Gifts. Shavri can’t leave.” And the thought of sending her into combat made Jisa’s insides curl up.

She turned away; Treven’s face was too much to bear. “I’ve got a better chance than anyone else.”

“But you and Trev–” Dara started.

“I know.” Jisa brought her chin into her chest. “I don’t want to. I hate it. But…if we lose this war, it’s not going to matter what else happens. And I’m _not_ defenceless. Leareth has no idea what I’m capable of, and he won’t expect me, he’d never guess Randi would send his own daughter.”

“No.” Treven’s voice was flat. “It’s too dangerous.”

It took every fibre of courage Jisa had to lift her head. Stare him in the eye. “Then we’d better come up with a better plan, huh? Because if we don’t, I’m going in. I hope that’s motivating.”

* * *

Vanyel’s nose itched. He longed to scratch it, or to rub his aching eyes, but he wasn’t about to beg Nayoki to do it for him.

They must have been speaking for candlemarks, and he was starting to feel very bleary. Leareth, standing relaxed and at ease on the other side of his spell-portal, showed no sign of fatigue.

 _Center and ground._ “Leareth, we’re going in circles. Everything you’re saying is logical, but you could still just be lying.”

Leareth’s eyes flicked briefly ceiling-ward, the strongest sign of frustration he had showed so far. “Herald Vanyel, can you name _any_ set of human-comprehensible objectives toward which these two plots would be the most efficient path?”

“I mean, if your goal was to make us incredibly confused, you’re damned well succeeding!”

Leareth’s breath hitched, his lips twitching – was that a chuckle? “Perhaps so. It is unclear why your confusion would help me to win, given that it has not slowed your King’s deployment of his forces and allies.”

How much did Leareth know about their allies? Was he aware of Iftel? Vanyel didn’t ask.

Leareth’s face returned to stillness, an imperturbable pool. “Do you have suggestions for how to resolve this impasse?”

 _I have no idea._ Vanyel forced himself to think. Thoughtsensing? He doubted Leareth would let him deep-scan him, and right now his Gift wasn’t open enough to allow it even if Leareth took down all of his shields; he would be lucky to pick up on a few surface thoughts.

“I have one suggestion,” Leareth said, interrupting his musings. “Nayoki once held the priestly office of Truthsayer, in her homeland–”

“Leareth,” Vanyel said wearily, “now really isn’t the time to try to convince me that some obscure priesthood I’ve never heard of exists, much less to trust your damned Mindhealer – sorry, Nayoki, I know you’re just following orders.” He sighed. “Leareth, I–”

He cut off, teeth closing with a click. _I’m an idiot_. Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier? Because he had been implicitly ruling out anything that required Gifts.

“Leareth,” he said carefully. “I want to borrow Nayoki and test something. It won’t hurt her.”

Even Heralds with no Gifts to speak of could cast a first-level Truth spell; that was part of what made it so incredibly valuable inside Valdemar. Was it possible through their Companions – a fresh pang of longing for Yfandes, shunted aside, _focus_ – or did it take only the tiniest trickle of energies to get the _vrondi_ ’ _s_ attention? Based on Jisa’s studies, summoning was significantly easier if the practitioner had existing relationships, and in a sense, all Heralds were in a contract with the _vrondi._

They might not know him here. Leareth might have even blocked access to the Elemental Planes, somehow, if he didn’t want their interference. Without Yfandes, his trickle of Thoughtsensing might not be enough. Still, he had to know. He could have tried it without asking, but he needed Nayoki to be in sight, and besides, on the off chance she was a mage with the right training, she might sense the first-level spell and panic.

“Nayoki?” Leareth said.

“His intent is true.” And then she was there, stepping around to stand at his bedside.

 _Center and ground_. He focused on her, and repeated the rhyme nine times, imagining a blue cloud with eyes.

It took real effort, which it never had before, but the halo settled on her forehead. If she noticed it, she gave no sign. Leareth, though, blinked several times. 

“Nayoki,” Vanyel said. “Tell me two true things about yourself – they don’t have to be important, it can be your favourite food or whatever. And one false thing.”

Her mouth twitched. “I enjoy to eat white-fish. I had a sister named Ithaca. I like the colour red.”

The halo stayed solid through the first two, and winked out on the last.

“I did not know you had a sister, Nayoki,” Leareth said, unreadably.

“It is not important.” Her dark eyes flashed. “Herald Vanyel, does it work?”

“Seems so.” He smiled at her, trying to convey gratitude – no point being rude just because she worked for Leareth – and then turned back to the mage.

Deedre had never found a way that someone could evade the Truth Spell without making it obvious, and neither had Jisa. It wouldn’t be conclusive; if anyone could cheat it, that person was Leareth; but it would still be evidence. _All information is worth having._

“Leareth, it seems you’ve kindly left me with enough Mind-Gifts to cast a first level Truth Spell. You can See for yourself that I can’t channel enough energy to power the coercive version. I can’t hurt you, you’ve made very sure of that.” Breathe. _Center and ground_. “And I don’t want to. I want some goddamned answers. Let your Mindhealer check my intent, if you want.”

Leareth nodded. “Nayoki?”

“Herald Vanyel. Can you please say that again, that you wish not to harm him? And, your permission that I touch your hand?”

“Go on.” He waited. “Um, are you?” Without looking, he couldn’t tell; he felt _something_ , it was as unpleasant as usual, but that could just be the sheets brushing his skin.

“Yes. Go now.”

He had to say the words and mean them. Did he? Could he?

Killing Leareth out of hand was the last thing he wanted to do.

Stare into Leareth’s eyes. “Leareth, I have no desire or plans to harm you before I know the truth. If you didn’t do it, and you can say that to my face under Truth Spell, then I will trust that enough to keep talking rather than fighting.”

Leareth was silent. Was that another glitter of respect in his black eyes?

Nayoki stepped away, satisfied. “He means it.” A flash of white teeth. “More than most men mean anything.”

“I told you,” Leareth said, glancing sideways at her with a tinge of satisfaction. “He is a light that burns brighter than most.” He bowed his head. “I accept, Herald Vanyel.”

And, some time later:

_What does it mean?_

For the first time in his life, he and Leareth were face to face, in the flesh. Vanyel could really have hoped for a more dignified first impression.

Leareth was doing just fine on dignity. He stood across the room, next to the blind doorway he had used to Gate in; Vanyel had a much worse view of his face than he'd had through the communication-hoop. He could see the blue halo on the man’s forehead, though.

It hadn’t budged.

Vanyel replayed Leareth’s words in his mind, etching them into his memory. No way to take notes, here.

_I did not personally arrange for a Changecreature to journey to Haven in order to attack Queen Karis or her daughter, or for any other purpose, at this time or at any point in the past. I did not delegate the creation of any plot against Valdemar or Valdemar’s allies, or offensive action on Valdemaran soil for any reason, and I have not done such in the past decade. I was unaware of such a plot until after my spies conveyed word of its existence, and I know of no contingency-plans or standing orders such that it could have been done under my purview. To my knowledge, and after significant investigation, no splinter group within my forces could have done this without my approval._

_I do not, and have never had, an agent among the Tale’edras. I have never studied a live Heartstone, learned only today that they could be destabilized in such a way, and still do not comprehend how. I had no intent to strike at k’Treva in any capacity. In this lifetime, I have never given orders to my subordinates to spy actively in Tayledras territory, much less devised offensive plans against them._

_I swear to you on the stars that all of this is true to my best knowledge, and that I am holding back no relevant details. I swear to you that my intent is still to cooperate and, if possible, form an alliance with you and yours, and work together to find our common enemy._

Not proof of anything, yet, but it was information, pointing in one direction. If there was a loophole, Vanyel wasn’t seeing it yet.

“Thank you,” Vanyel heard himself say. “I’m going to dismiss it now.” He was feeling the strain. Did weakly Gifted Heralds find it this tiring just to cast a damned Truth Spell?

The blue light vanished. Leareth’s eyes moved to Nayoki, waiting for her terse nod, then returned to Vanyel’s face. Patient, imperturbable. He would wait as long as necessary for a response.

There were implications. Probably terrifying ones. Vanyel couldn’t, yet, muster anything other than incomprehension.

 _I need to think._ And, to his frustration, he was starting to feel noticeably drowsy, even.

“He is weary,” Nayoki said.

Still watching Vanyel, Leareth lifted his eyebrows very slightly, questioning.

“I am,” he admitted. “Leareth, I’m willing to very, very tentatively trust you a bit more. We should keep talking. But…can we pick this up once I’ve rested?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanyel!! and Leareth!! meet and talk!! I hope you guys enjoyed it.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar bonus chapter!

“Really?” Jisa said, staring at her brother from her sideways position on the floor. “You think that would work?”

“Perhaps. If we were to have a focus.”

It was well after midnight, and the four of them were still in his suite. Brightstar sat against the wall, legs splayed, absently braiding and unbraiding his hair. Dara was flopped in a hammock, though any minute now she would be up again and pacing. Jisa lay curled on her side, using Treven’s belly as a pillow. She could hear his stomach making noises, oddly reassuring.

“Jisa,” Treven said, “can you please tell us what you’re talking about? In, um, shorter words.”

Right. Their rapid-fire exchange had gotten very technical. Jisa caught Brightstar’s eye, but he shook his head.

“It’s a search-spell,” she said. “A White Winds secret. It can locate a person at any distance. We have to assume Leareth isn’t stupid and has him somewhere _very_ well shielded, so the standard spell might not work, but Brightstar thinks we could route it through the Void. Like a Gate. You don’t just need shields to block a Gate, you need some kind of area-effect spell to disrupt the connection between the Planes, and we’ve no evidence he can do that.” Though, if anyone could, it was Leareth. She paused to breathe. “The trouble is, it needs a focus. Fresh blood, that still holds the person’s life-force. Which we don’t have, and there’s no way of getting it.”

Thoughtful silence.

“Can you use something else?” Dara suggested helpfully. “Hair, maybe? You might be able to get some from his comb, if he left it behind.”

“Not hair alone,” Brightstar said, tonelessly. “Perhaps if the roots were fresh. But not after weeks.”

“Maybe we can combine it with other things…magical artifacts he made…”

“Wait!” Treven surged up, nearly knocking Jisa off him. “I have an idea.”

Jisa disentangled herself, sitting up as well. “What?”

“Arven.” At her blank look: “Van gave her his blood. Remember? So it must still be alive. _She_ is.”

Jisa frowned. “Wouldn’t it turn into part of her life-force? Besides, there’s no way of getting _just_ the blood that’s his. It’d be mostly hers.”

“It may be possible.” For the first time since the news had arrived, there was life in her brother’s voice. “The signature of his life-force would take some time to fade. I might change the spell to add a hair as well, and find the intersection. It is worth trying.”

“Then let’s!” Dara was already halfway out of the hammock.

Brightstar held up both hands. “I am not ready! I must needs modify the spell first.”

“How long will that take?”

He yawned, halfheartedly hiding it behind his hand. “Perhaps four candlemarks…”

“You need rest,” Jisa said. For her part, she wasn’t sleepy, but the buzzing in her head told her that she was exhausted and running on nerves. “Listen, I know I said morning, but I’m willing to call this a better plan and wait to try it. We should all get some sleep.”

* * *

Stef scrambled to his feet, shedding furs, as the padding footsteps resolved into two of the _kyree_ scouts, fur still snow-specked.

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve got news?” He didn’t recognize either of them; the female had russet fur, the neuter a creamy off-white coat with dark ‘socks’ on its paws and legs.

 _:Singer:_ It was the female who answered, sitting back on her haunches. _:I am Lalla, and this is Karrl:_

More footfalls behind them, claws clicking on the stone. _:They return from beyond the mountains:_ Hyrryl’s white form seemed to almost float in the dim light, red-green-yellow-blue mixing in rainbows.

“And?” It was all he could do to stay on his feet.

 _:We found no sign of your soul-partner’s scent, nor did we Sense his magic:_ Lalla sent, ears flattening in apology. _:We did, however, observe this Leareth’s army from a distance, or at least we assume it is his. We did not risk going near – it is all tundra in the north, there is no cover to be had:_

The disappointment washed over him, so intense that it was long moments before the second half even reached his brain.

“Oh.” He folded back down onto his nest of skins. “And?”

_:There is bad news and good. The bad: they number at least thirty thousand. They have Changed cavalry-horses, and magical creatures we have never seen before:_

Stef flinched. The Guard had fifteen thousand. Even with all their allies joining, they couldn’t match those numbers.

 _:We are not sure of his mages:_ she added _:but from the mage-work we Sensed, it seems there are several hundred:_

His heart sank even lower. Valdemar had less than twenty. Maybe more, if Jisa’s friends at White Winds had agreed to join them, but still.

 _:The good:_ Lalla added, ears tipping forward again, _:is that they do not appear to be staged anywhere near Crookback Pass. Perhaps five hundred men guard it, well-concealed, yet the main body is a hundred miles distant. They are preparing, it seems, but I would not say they are prepared:_

Stef blinked at her. That was odd. _What’s he thinking?_

“Any way he’s got a permanent Gate to move them through or something?” he guessed. He knew enough about mage-work to estimate the energy-cost of transporting thirty thousand troops, horses included, through an ordinary Gate. Maybe possible, if you had several hundred mages, but those mages would be needed for the fight as well.

 _:Not that we Sensed:_ Lalla sent, thoughtful. _:Perhaps he could conceal one:_

Stef rubbed his eyes. _Think._ Four days since the ambush. Sometime yesterday, he thought he had noticed a change; the lifebond was just a little more present in the back of his mind. Not enough to do anything with.

_Van._

Stef wasn’t a fighter, or a mage; he was technically a trained spy, but trying to infiltrate Leareth’s camp alone was a suicide mission. His lifebonded partner was captive, and there was nothing at all he could do except sit here and pointlessly poke at the map.

Despair surged, and he lacked the strength to fight it. He brought both hands to his face, halfheartedly trying to hide the tears.

 _:Young Stefen:_ Hyrryl’s mindvoice, gentle, and he heard the scuff of her paws on the stone, then her weight settling next to him. Not quite touching. _:I know it is heavy to bear, and yet it is not time to give up. We are at your side. Do you believe me?:_

“Y-yes.” Sniffling, he reached for her neck. “Hyrryl, I’m grateful, truly…means so much… Just, I _miss_ him. It hurts. Wherever he is, he’s alone…scared…” His chest ached, and he buried his face in her white coat, weeping.

 _:We will find him:_ No hesitation or doubt. She nosed at his hair. _:We have powers Leareth knows nothing of, and we are not your only friends. Your call for aid will have reached your King now. Help is perhaps already on its way:_

Stef lifted his head. With no one there to tell him off, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Gods, I hope so.” Something he was forgetting… “Oh! Hyrryl, we have to get word of this to Randi.” Damn it, if they’d learned just one day sooner… “Shouldn’t risk Waymeet again, though. I suppose we use the message-drop, and hope they check it.”

Hyrryl seemed to be thinking.

 _:We can convey such a message:_ she sent finally. _:The location you chose is not so exposed, nor is it far. Write a message, and one of our scouts will leave it in place. And stand guard from a distance, that we might observe anyone who passes without being seen:_

He leaned into her warm flank. “Hyrryl, I can’t ever thank you enough.”

* * *

“Are you ready?” Jisa said.

Brightstar nodded.

“Well, here goes nothing.” She linked hands with him, and minds. Need’s presence hovered at her back, for once silent.

They were in another outlying Work Room. Just the two of them – it was a lot easier for her to escape her duties than for Treven or Dara to duck out, and they weren’t needed for this part.

Randi had already been asleep by the time they met the night before, and was having a bad morning. Treven, after speaking with his Companion, had made the judgement call not to tell him until they knew the results of this attempt.

Brightstar led, but Jisa gave him all the energy he needed. His reserves were still low, and he couldn’t touch nodes in here, whereas she could reach for the Web anywhere, and Need could help control the influx, channeling it through to her brother.

Arven was out of the House of Healing now, but still in Valdemar, under guard in the Queen’s suite, awaiting her mother’s return. The Sunsguard had let the two of them visit unsupervised, and Arven had agreed instantly when Jisa said they needed some of her blood for ‘secret reasons’. She had thought they were in the clear…and then Sola had appeared from nowhere, startling her so badly that she nearly wet herself, and demanded to know what they thought they were doing.

Jisa had given a couple of evasive answers, met by an unblinking amber stare. Eventually, she had opened a private Mindspeech link, and just told the damned Suncat the partial truth. Van was in trouble. They were trying to locate him. It was imperative that this stay secret.

Sola had watched her with an odd, knowing look, but had apparently accepted the tale, and settled down to cuddle with Arven while Jisa and Brightstar snuck out, the jar of congealing blood hidden under her cloak.

They had a tuft of Van’s silver hair as well, rescued from his washbasin – at least it was easy to tell which hairs were his versus Stef’s! Jisa had even snatched a pair of dirty Whites from under the bed, for the residue of his sweat.

The spell-structure taking form didn’t feel much like a Gate to her, but it had a hint of that flavour, the brush of the Void. It was also, by her reckoning, about ten times as power-intensive as the original unmodified version. Neither of them could cast it alone, not before reaching White Winds Adept.

 _…_ It would be so incredibly useful to be an Adept, right about now. Did she have any hope of ramming through and getting the spell down? Almost certainly not, given that she had cut even her trance-exercises down to a half-candlemark in the mornings.

 _:The scaffolding is set:_ Brightstar sent, close in her mind. _:Now I will Call:_

She felt his mind settle into stillness, an empty vessel – and then that vessel cupped around the form of Arven’s blood, that maybe, possibly, still held a few drops of Vanyel’s.

He held it up like a candle-flame, and Called.

Even in direct contact with the Web, the power-drain dimmed Jisa’s vision, her strength pouring out to replace Brightstar’s reserves as the spell ate them whole.

It searched, and searched, and searched…

Jisa stayed calm, patient, but noting Brightstar’s weakening aura. She was offering him _most_ of what he needed for it, but the energy to control that power still came from his reserves.

…A shift. The spell had found _something_ , she thought. And it couldn’t be Arven. It was reaching a long, long way.

 _:Brightstar, where?:_ she sent.

 _:I cannot tell exactly:_ he admitted. _:Distance is different in the Void, and the final step of the spell must reach back through our own plane to confirm. It cannot make contact – it is blocked:_ Curiosity in his mindvoice, a hint of awe. _:However, I have a bearing and a distance:_

 _:Give it to me:_ She dropped her inner shields, merging her senses fully with his.

A glowing line, visible purely within their minds… She focused on it and pushed with Mindhealing, driving it deep into her memory. Damn it, they should have thought ahead, had a map ready…

Need spoke into her mind for the first time. _:Drop it, girl. Before you both pass out:_

Jisa obeyed, prompting Brightstar to release the frustrated Call, caught in a loop that couldn’t quite close itself and draining both of them in the attempt, and then to unweave the structure of the spell itself.

The instant she pulled out of rapport, Brightstar sagged to his knees, then fell forward onto his hands. Jisa would have tried to catch him, but she wasn’t feeling too steady either.

A map. They needed a map…

 _:By the Twain, slow down:_ A mental slap from Need. _:You’ve memorized it. So have I. Give yourself a moment to rest:_

Half a candlemark later:

They were back in Brightstar’s rooms. To her humiliation, Jisa had found herself unable to walk that distance, much less support Brightstar; she had needed to beg Enara to pass a message. Dara had arrived minutes later with Treven.

In the arms of her lifebonded – and husband, one couldn’t forget that part, she still wanted to squeal about it even though they had _much_ bigger things to focus on – Jisa was feeling much better. Brightstar was still worryingly pale, lying in his hammock with a wet cloth over his eyes.

Treven slipped into full mind-rapport, focusing on the memory along with her, and his hands moved over hers, long graceful fingers confident on the map he had laid on the floor between them. It was one the Icefoxes had drafted, remarkably detailed on this side of the mountains, and Treven had quickly stitched another piece of vellum onto the end, extending it. It wasn’t fair that he was so good at sewing on top of everything else.

“Here,” he said, and Jisa marked a circle. Her hands shook, but she had drawn a _lot_ of circles.

Treven set down the slide-rule and compass.

“Somewhere in this area,” he said. “About a hundred and fifty miles northwest of Crookback Pass, give or take twenty miles.”

The circle didn’t look so big on the map. Her fingertips spanned it easily. In reality, the area was almost fifty miles wide, and it hung in the midst of…nothing. Blank vellum.

Of course, that was a flaw with their map, not the world.

Was their any chance that the _kyree_ knew the lands to the north?

For now, Jisa had decided against including Dara and Treven on the existence of the _kyree_. She didn’t have a specific reason why, just a quiet background voice, whispering. _All secrets want to be free._ Treven was, in certain ways, very conventional. He would be uncomfortable keeping it from Randi, and if her papa knew, he would tell Mother, and there would be that much higher a chance that it would spread.

Jisa turned to Dara. “Do we have anyone who can Farsee that distance from the Border?” Two hundred miles, all of it outside the Web.

“Distance isn’t the problem.” Dara frowned, absently adjusting the compress on Brightstar’s forehead. “We need someone who can Farsee from a map, that’s rare to begin with, and…I’m not sure this counts as one. There’s no detail. Maybe if the Icefoxes make it back with their surveys.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Treven said. “Still not much to go on.”

–An urgent yank, deep inside her. Catching her off guard, it was almost enough to wrench her limbs away from her control. _Belt herself to the saddle and gallop for the horizon, north, north, north –_

Exhaustion held her down. _:Need, quit it:_ Jisa grumbled. The sword wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

Treven must have felt it as well, through her. “Need? Er, did something change just now, with that pull you were feeling?”

 _:Hmmff:_ A gruff but thoughtful pause. _:You’re not so useless, you know. It does feel clearer:_

“Your Foresight thinks you can find him.”

 _:Perhaps:_ An unhappy mental grunt. _:It wants me to do something, that’s for damned sure:_

Silence.

Jisa took a deep breath. “That was worth trying, but I don’t see that we’ve got a better plan than my going north. I can ask one of the White Winds Adepts to lay an illusion on me. A true illusion, that doesn’t leak any sign of magic. It’s next to undetectable, and I don’t need to say why.” She had originally thought of that as a way to have someone else act as a decoy, but it worked both ways. “I can hide my Gifts. I’ve got a mix of training no one else has.” With Dara in the room, she didn’t mention her Gating talents, but she could Gate directly there if she wanted.

Which she didn’t. She had no idea what was waiting for her on the other side.

Treven’s arms tightened around her. “Not yet.” Fierce protectiveness leaked through their bond. “Jisa, give us one more night to come up with a better idea.”

She opened her mouth to protest, and closed it. _He has the right._ She could acknowledge Need’s relentless tug, the deep sense that she _had_ to do this, and still recognize the momentous cost to the Kingdom if anything happened to her.

It had been days. She could spare one more afternoon.

“We’ll keep thinking,” Dara promised. “But, Trev?”

“What?”

“…We have to tell Randi.” Her voice was tight, choked. “Can’t keep making excuses.”

* * *

Karis had been gone for only two weeks. _How does he look so much worse?_

She sat at Randi’s bedside, grateful for the cushioned chair; after a morning in the saddle, her thighs and buttocks were throbbing.

Resting in his bed, the King brought to mind one of the ice-sculptures she had seen at the festival. Translucent, veined in blue. Brittle. She pictured a gentle blow shattering him to pieces. Despite that frailty, his eyes were clear. Alert. His mind still belonged to him.

She rested her hand over his, careful not to squeeze too hard. _Your mind was always what I loved._ And she did love him, if nowhere near the depths of how she felt toward Arven, still something. They had ruled two kingdoms side by side for almost a decade; surely that was worth more than seeing one another naked. She was grateful they had never needed to try for a child together; even now, sometimes when Vanyel spoke in meetings she would be distracted by an inappropriate, unwanted flash of memory of him without his clothes on. How did people who bedded each other ever speak in public with a straight face?

Vanyel.

Randi had given her the news of his journey north immediately, before any of the other updates. She was grieved to have missed his departure, and frightened, both for his sake and her own – and, at the same time, there was hope.

 _I fear that you and I might once again be on opposite sides of a war_ , she had said to him, years ago, _and yet, if anyone need make such a choice, I am glad it is to be in your hands._

Vanyel had gone north believing that the most likely outcome was his death – possibly in exchange for Leareth’s, possibly for nothing at all – and yet, he still had some scant hope it might have been a mistake. Leareth’s message to them, the second piece Randi had given her, had raised her own doubts to the surface again. Leareth might be a terrifying enemy, but he was neither a monster nor a madman. She agreed with Vanyel on that much.

Vanyel was only one man, fallible. He distrusted the gods, speaking for none of them; once, that would have made her uneasy, a man of no faith bearing such a mantle, but she had learned. He did have faith in his own way, in something deeper and vaguer than a god, but real nonetheless. A sacred trust, he had called it.

 _I trust you._ She had offered up an immediate, silent prayer for his safety and success, and she would pray on her knees tonight.

Her Sunlord had given her no counsel. Even Sola had offered only than silent comfort.

_All we have is each other._

And the armies of several kingdoms standing at their backs. Iftel would need another fortnight to move their people, and she assumed the same was true of Rethwellan, but Lissa’s mercenaries were already in Sunhame, waiting with her own armies to cross the Gate.

“Are you sure, love?” Shavri said gently to Randi. “If you need to rest, we can put it off.”

“No.” Bloodless lips curved into a smile. “If Trev says it’s urgent, I ought to hear the lad out.”

“All right.” Shavri waved for the Healer standing discreetly behind her to step out, then caught the door-guard’s eye and nodded to him.

Treven and Dara filed into the room. To Karis’ tired surprise, Jisa followed, smiling brightly at the guard and then closing the door. She raised her hands, presumably working some kind of privacy-spell.

She looked very adult in her Whites, Karis thought, and with the sword Need at her hip. Hard to believe she wasn’t quite fifteen.

Treven looked uncertainly at her, and then shared a glance with Dara, the two of them eventually exchanging a nod. The young heir was visibly agitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, running his blond queue between his fingers. It was unlike him, and worrying.

“Randi,” he said abruptly. “I would say you ought to be sitting down for this, but I guess you are. Shavri, maybe _you_ should be.”

Shavri frowned, but pulled over a chair and sat.

Treven took a deep breath, and reached for Jisa’s hand. The girl was eerily calm, and she seemed to share some of it with him.

“Spit it out, lad,” Randi said. “I won’t bite.”

Treven bowed his head. “We got a spy-message. From Stef. It’s…Van…” His lips moved silently, helplessly.

Dara rescued him. “They were attacked north of the Border. Vanyel was taken prisoner, presumably by Leareth’s agents. Stef escaped, and he’s, er, somewhere safe.”

“We want to keep it that way,” Jisa added, “so we’re not going to say where.”

“But we know where Van is,” Treven jumped in again. “Roughly. Brightstar invented a tracking spell. He’s behind shields, on the north side of the mountains, but he’s definitely alive.”

Silence fell.

Karis found herself unable to speak. Her body was reacting, she could hear her own pulse hammering in her ears, but her mind was numb.

 _They are too young._ That was her first thought. Those were the faces of children in front of her; even Dara, at twenty, seemed far too youthful to stand at the right hand of a King.

And yet. Valdemar’s future – and her own people’s future, too – was in their hands.

“Randi,” Treven said. “I know this is bad, it’s really, really bad, but I think we _have_ to keep it quiet. For Stef’s safety if nothing else.” He took a step closer to his lifebonded. His wife, Karis reminded herself. Shavri had been quick to share that one piece of good news.

“We’ve talked through our options already,” Treven went on. “Our only lead is that Need is feeling an urgent call north, and we’re almost certain it’s related. But she’s only willing to go with Dara or Jisa, and Jisa’s chances are better.”

Karis turned, but Shavri’s expression was shuttered, her eyes downcast.

Treven lifted his shoulders and let them fall, helplessly. “So that’s the closest we’ve got to a plan. Send Jisa north with Need, to rendezvous with Stef, and – hope that pans out into something. I really, really don’t want to, for obvious reasons. Our other option is just to get in touch with Stef, he did give us a way to contact him, find out if his friends have ideas, and whether there’s any support we can lend them.”

Silence.

“Treven, thank you for telling us.” Randi’s voice sounded so normal, only a hint of stiffness giving away the control he was exerting. “You’ve made a good start. I’d like to–”

He broke off with a gasp.

Karis turned, in time to see all colour draining from his face, his eyes rolling back, breathing shallow and rapid.

Shavri was already on her feet. “Karis. Help me lower his head.” Quiet command in her voice. “Jisa, Treven, get over here. Dara, please pass a message to Healers’ and tell them I need backup _now_.”

Karis willed her hands to stop shaking, and rose, helping Shavri shift the lever and ease the head of the bed down on its gears. “What is wrong?” she heard herself say.

“Just the shock, I think, but he’s got nothing in reserve.” Shavri’s hand was on his forehead, eyes closed. “Jisa, link with me. Trev, I need you to prop his legs up on a pillow, see we if we can get some blood back to his heart.”

Randi was breathing more normally. A moment later, his eyelids fluttered, a crease deepening between his brows. Dry lips moved. “Wh…?”

“Shh, love, don’t try to speak yet.” Shavri stroked his forehead. “You had a fainting spell. I’ve got you now.” She glanced sideways at Jisa, who nodded. Karis was unsure what silent message had passed between them.

Randi’s features relaxed, and he seemed content to lie still for the next minute or two.

Then his eyes flew open. “Van,” he whispered.

He was calm, though. Possibly Jisa’s hand over his, her intent gaze on him, had something to do with that.

“I know.” Karis watched as Shavri bent to kiss his forehead. “I know. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”

Vanyel had known the danger. He was captive, but still alive. _It is not too late._

Karis clenched her eyes shut. _Vkandis, my Sunlord, what would You have of Your daughter?_

“M’sorry,” Randi whispered. “Embarrassing…”

“Not embarrassing at all,” she heard Treven answer. “It’s awful news. I thought I was going to pass out too, when Jisa told us.”

Jisa had learned of it before Treven? A note of confusion, that had nowhere to go.

“Papa, please,” Jisa said softly. “Stef needs me.”

The silence seemed to stiffen, setting in place like pudding.

Finally, and to her bafflement, Randi chuckled.

“Stef,” he croaked, “is on…this side…of the mountains.” He kept having to pause mid-sentence and catch his breath. “Jisa, pet–”

Frantic footsteps outside, and someone wrenched the door open.

“One moment!” Shavri’s voice. Karis opened her eyes just in time to see Shavri waving the knot of Healers back. “I’ll need you in a second, but we’re finishing something.”

She shared a significant look with Jisa, then with Randi. They must have all switched to Mindspeech, Karis thought. Treven was biting his lip, eyes flying back and forth between the King and his lifebonded.

Apparently finished making his point, whatever it was, Randi closed his eyes. Shavri looked like someone about to be sick.

Jisa’s chin was lifted, her jaw set. Determined, but not defiant. It was an expression far too old for her face.

Finally, Shavri nodded. “I know,” she murmured out loud. “I wish… But, I know.” Then she cupped a hand to her mouth. “Come on in!” Her eyes whirled around. “All of you, out.”

Karis backed into the wall, allowing the Healers past, then let herself be tugged along with the flow.

“Dara!” she hissed, jogging down the hall to catch up with the King’s Own. “Dara, Treven… Would someone please tell me?” A decision had been made, clearly, but she had no idea what it was.

“Oh. Right.” Dara glanced around. “With me.”

They grabbed the nearest available meeting-room, and Dara bolted the door and, for good measure, shoved a chair underneath the doorknob. “Jisa?”

The young woman raised her hands, moved them, let them fall. “Done.” Her expression was still odd, faraway, fear and serenity mingled.

Treven was wild-eyed, his grip white-knuckled around Jisa’s hand.

Dara went straight to the point. “Randi just authorized Jisa to go north. If Trev and I agree, and Rolan signs off, and we don’t think of anything else before tomorrow. Not to cross the mountains, but to make contact with Stef and work out a plan with him.” A crooked smile. “He said, and I quote, ‘I know you and Stef can plot together like a house on fire, and for once I don’t mind burning down someone’s roof.’”

Treven’s jaw worked. “I don’t agree. Jisa, _no_!”

Jisa’s brown eyes were still pools, unperturbed. “Then let’s think of a better idea.”

* * *

_:You’re sure?:_ Shavri sent, stroking Randi’s cheek. _:You want to send her? Risk her life?:_

They were in his bedroom, with two other Healers hovering discreetly. They had discussed moving him to the House of Healing, but in the end, they could care for him just as well here, and he could be in familiar surroundings.

This close to the end, he deserved that much. They hadn’t spoken of it – even Aber had only _looked_ at her, not saying anything – but Shavri couldn’t deny it anymore. Randi didn’t have months left, at this point; he had weeks, or days.

If Jisa went, he might never see his daughter again _._

Randi was drowsy, but he held his end of the link. _:She has a point, you know. None of what we have is worth much if we lose this war. The Companions think it’s worth trying. And she’s not ours to put in a cage:_ Pride, something like awe. _:She’s not a child anymore:_

No, she wasn’t. It felt like she had grown up far too fast, fourteen was too young, but Jisa was already a full Herald. A skilled mage. One of the first graduates of the Mindhealers’ Collegium.

A married woman. After the announcement, lying awake next to her lifebonded, Shavri had been startled by the jealousy that rose. It had always been her choice, not to share vows, but it had been a constraint of outside circumstances. If Randi had been an ordinary Herald…

No point mourning a life that had never existed, and she could still be happy for her daughter. Who was her own person, and always had been.

 _:We have to win this:_ Randi sent. _:We need every edge:_

And he was right – going by the numbers, Jisa was their best candidate, however insane that sounded; there was her White Winds training, her rare blend of Gifts, her bond with Need… Shavri had always known her daughter was a prodigy, but put like that, it sounded ridiculous.

 _It should be me._ The thought drifted up, inexplicable, pointless. Shavri didn’t _want_ to go. She wasn’t sure she would have the courage to get past the city gates. She was far less prepared for a fight than her daughter, and she had a different, equally pressing role to play, here in Haven.

It still sat uncomfortably. Surely a mother ought to protect her daughter from danger, not the other way around.

 _:I know:_ she sent, chuckling sadly. _:I almost feel sorry for him, you know. Leareth:_

Randi’s lips twitched as well, as he played along with the joke. _:Right? He has no idea what’s about to hit him:_

* * *

Still in the meeting-room, Karis stared past the three of him at the noon sun shining down on the snow outside. Tried to think. “Might you send Brightstar?”

Jisa’s downturned gaze told her enough. “Casting the search-spell knocked him flat. He’s not fully recovered physically, and, honestly, he’s emotionally unstable enough that I wouldn’t want him out there alone. Besides, he’s a boy. Need won’t go with him.”

Treven brightened. “How about Featherfire? She’s a girl.”

Jisa frowned, resting her hand on the hilt of the sword. “…Need doesn’t think they’ll mesh. And, this is sort of embarrassing, but I’m not sure I trust her with it. To keep a secret, sure, but to be good at plotting…”

Dara sighed. “Honestly, I have the same problem with Katri or Nubia. It’s not that I think they’ll give it away, but I don’t trust them to get it _right_. It needs to be someone who understands how Leareth thinks. Van’s talked to me plenty, about him, and…he always said we would get along.”

Karis let her eyes drift to the window, snow glinting in the noon sun. Surely there were other options… And yet, none were coming to mind.

“We shouldn’t be trying to think of good ideas,” Jisa said finally. “We’ll only stay stuck. We should toss out _bad_ ideas, and see if any of them can work.”

A pause.

“Katha?” Treven tossed out. “She’s got a twisty mind.”

“She’s not strongly Gifted,” Dara pointed out. “And we desperately need her here.”

“Same for Keiran,” Jisa agreed.

Thoughtful silence.

“Ooh! How’s this for a truly stupid idea?” Dara offered brightly. “Melody.”

Karis stared at her. Treven seemed as baffled as she felt.

Jisa, though, was nodding. “She gets Leareth better than anyone except Van. And I bet she could scheme. But she’d be useless in combat, and – no, she isn’t Need’s type either.”

It seemed to Karis that the blade was being very fussy. “General Lissa?” she suggested, hopeful. “Need has worked with her, no?”

“Oh!” Jisa’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t think of that at all, for some reason.” A pause. “Need says she would consider it, but wants to remind us that Lissa isn’t Gifted. She can protect her against magical attacks, but not talk to her easily, and…she wants to warn us that she’s ‘less capable’ if her bearer doesn’t have Mind-Gifts.” She made a face. “Stupider, she means. Huh. Anyway, there’s a lot Need and I can do in concert, that neither of us could alone, and she’ll lose that advantage with an un-Gifted bearer.”

Silence fell.

Karis closed her eyes again. _Please, my Sunlord…_

Oh.

“Sola,” she said out loud. “I know you are listening. Would you like to offer advice?”

She didn’t, in fact, know that the Suncat was listening, but it seemed likely, the creature was very nosy, and the only consequence of being wrong was embarrassment.

…A purr from below her, where the cat definitely hadn’t been ten seconds ago, and she felt warm fur brush her legs. _:You need only ask:_ Sola leapt up into her lap.

For a moment, Karis could only bury her face in the Suncat’s fur, breathing in her clean scent. _I am so afraid._

“Good idea!” Jisa sounded delighted. “Sola, you must know something–”

“Hey,” Dara interrupted her. “You can do that jumping thing. You’re really good at sneaking around.”

Sola’s back arched. _:I don’t like where this is going:_

Karis lifted her head, a sinking feeling in her gut.

“And you’ve helped Van before,” Dara finished. “Can’t you go rescue him, or at least try?”

Sola leapt up from Karis’ lap onto the table. _:Helping with Sandra was different. It was a minor intervention:_

Dara scowled. “But–”

Sola sat back on her haunches, licking one paw, amber eyes fixed on the King’s Own. _:What you’re asking, I cannot do without a directive from Vkandis:_

Dara half-rose in her chair. “Then go talk to–”

“Stop.” Karis lifted her hand. “Dara, please. We cannot, must not, make those demands on our gods.”

Dara still looked like she wanted to protest, her face moving through a dozen expression, but finally, she closed her jaw with a click.

“I am sorry.” Karis held out her hand, and let Sola butt her cheek against it. “We understand your limitations. However, I would call on your wisdom. What do you think we might do?”

* * *

_:Ha:_ Dara sent, with quiet satisfaction. _:Thought I’d find you here:_

Sunlight filtered through the curtains. Arven was napping, tucked in with a stuffed duck; she tended to sleep for candlemarks after the Healers worked with her. Dara was friendly with the child’s personal Sunsguard, though, and the two women standing guard at her door tonight had shared a knowing smile and let her past, when she said she just wanted to sit with the girl for a few minutes.

Sola, splayed out like a rug at the foot of the child’s bed, blinked slowly at her, her amber eyes luminous. _:If this is about what I think, the answer is still no. You heard what Karis said:_

Unperturbed, Dara eased herself down against the wall and sat, draping her arms loosely around her folded knees. She aimed an apologetic smile at the Suncat.

 _:Arven’s a remarkable child:_ she sent lightly. Casual. _:She’s so composed. Hard to believe she’s only five:_

_:Yes. She is much like her mother:_

_:And her father:_ Dara added.

Sola tensed, back arching, but when Dara left it at that, she settled again. _:I suppose there is that:_

Dara rested her chin between her knees. _:You watch over her all the time:_

 _:Yes. When she sleeps, I am here:_ The Suncat rolled, exposing a flash of her cream-furred belly, and twisted her head to groom one shoulder. _:She is frightened to be alone, whether or not she lets anyone see:_

 _:Understandable:_ Dara smiled. _:You love her very much, don’t you?:_

A deep purr. _:Like my own kitten:_

 _:She’s lucky to have you:_ Dara let her eyes go out of focus. _:What do you think of Trev and Jisa’s wedding?:_ she sent finally.

 _:I’m sorry to have missed a party:_ Amusement in Sola’s mindvoice.

_:You don’t think they should have waited for the Council to vote on it?:_

A sniff. _:Not likely. It would have dragged on for weeks. A room of stuffy old men debating the right of two youngsters who love each other to make that official:_

Dara’s smile broadened. _:I agree. No time for that. Asking forgiveness rather than permission worked beautifully, I’d say:_

Sola’s slitted gaze sharpened, but she gave no response. Dara smiled brightly at her, then lapsed into companionable silence, letting her eyes drift back to Arven’s sleeping form.

Sola was the first to break. _:Spit it out, girl. What do you want from me?:_

Dara turned her head, slow, patient. She smiled again. _:Sola, I really do think Arven is lucky beyond belief to have you. And I think you know exactly how she would feel if something happened to her Uncle Van. I think you would do almost anything to spare her that grief:_

The Suncat’s eyes opened wide, pupils narrowing to slits. _:Stop trying to argue it, Dara. It is what it is:_

Dara unfolded her legs until they were straight out in front of her, and rested her hands palm-up on her thighs. _:She’s already going to lose her ‘Papa’. Soon. I’d be surprised if he had another month in him:_

 _:Stop:_ But there was no heat in her mindvoice, this time.

 _:Sola:_ Dara held her gaze, unblinking. _:You’ve always told Karis to follow her conscience:_

The cat had gone very still. _:Karis isn’t a Suncat:_

And Companions weren’t human. But, Dara would bet, they weren’t far off. The product of a god, with certain marks of it on their minds, but still, to a first approximation, just people.

She had asked Rolan once about Yfandes, once, and he had been just as cagey as she expected, so she had asked Van and Yfandes directly. It must have been at some point during their endless winter in Urtho’s Tower.

 _She overstepped her bounds_ , Rolan had said. _She knew what it would mean._

Yfandes had broken the rules. No god had stepped in to interfere. She had come back different, changed, and been welcomed back into the herd anyway, because even Rolan didn’t have a choice.

 _:Sola:_ she sent. _:How many times has Vkandis spoken to you? Given you a directive?:_

Silence.

 _:You don’t have to tell me:_ Dara sent. _:If it’s private. But it’s not very many, is it?:_ She turned her eyes to the window. A starry sky. _:Sola, I know you want to go. And I think you could do it. You didn’t ask the Sunlord first before you jumped Van to save Sandra’s life. Vkandis may not have given you His seal for this, but I doubt He would actually stop you:_

She sighed, heavily, and turned back to Sola. _:Look. If the gods had the ability and inclination to rescue us from this mess, they would have already. Looks like They’re leaving it to us, this time. Vkandis has a whole world to keep track of. I don’t think He can spare worrying about one little girl’s broken heart:_ Her eyes were burning, but she held the unblinking stare. _:Sola, when I crossed the Barrier, it named me Guardian. Protector. I see that in you as well, and I think you’re looking for permission, to fight for the people you love. Even though Karis needs to make hard choices without counsel from Vkandis all the time, and you tell her to follow her conscience:_

She blinked, let her gaze soften. _:I think you ought to ask yourself, Sola. What you, just you, think is right. And if you decide the right thing involves breaking some rules, ask yourself, what can Vkandis actually do to you? How bad would it be to ask for forgiveness instead of permission?:_

Sola held herself rigid, not even breathing.

 _:Or you could just ignore me, and this conversation never happened:_ Dara rolled forward onto her heels and rose silently. _:It’s between you and Vkandis. I won’t even ask, I promise:_ Plausible deniability. _:Take care, Sola. Say hello to Arven for me when she wakes up:_

Nodding to the guards on her way out, Dara was feeling rather proud of herself. It was a shot in the dark; she had no idea whether or not Sola would listen to her. She had ad-libbed half of that speech on the spot.

Her shields were up and tight. This was something she definitely wasn’t going to mention to Rolan.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

It was impossible to keep track of time. Vanyel had drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, formless nightmares jolting him back to the windowless, unchanging room. At some point, he vaguely remembered Nayoki asking if he was having difficulty resting; he couldn’t remember what he had said to her, but he wondered if she had done something with her Gift. He had just woken from what had to be many candlemarks of deep and dreamless sleep. _I haven’t been so well-rested in years._ It was vaguely pathetic how grateful he was.

And, to his own surprise, he was in a reasonably good mood. Which was suspicious, and might mean that Nayoki had been mucking around in his head, but maybe not. There were new, genuine reasons to be hopeful.

He still couldn’t find a loophole in Leareth’s oath.

Even if the man’s words could be trusted, it didn’t resolve everything. Leareth might truly believe he was doing the right thing, deeply enough to say it confidently under any level of Truth Spell, and be _wrong_. Wrong about ethics in some nebulous way. Wrong about what was possible. Wrong in some way outside what Vanyel could conceive of.

And Vanyel _couldn’t_ fully put his trust in one first-level Truth Spell. Still, it was information. In particular, it meant that talking was still a viable option. Much better than blasting each other into slag.

…And it meant that, whatever was actually going on here, they probably shared a common enemy. Maybe a literal god. Which was exactly what Leareth had been trying to convince him of all this time, so it wasn’t clear why it felt like such a shock _,_ or so hard to think about.

Vanyel sighed and squirmed again. The bedrails were padded, making it difficult to hurt himself by accident, and even just wriggling at random eased the discomfort of spending too long in one position. It was less embarrassing than calling for one of his attendants.

He couldn’t seem to get comfortable now, though. Whatever signal his body was trying to send, it was getting hopelessly snarled on the way there; he had no idea if he was too hot, too cold, hungry, nauseated, itchy, or needed to piss. _This is humiliating._

No point in denying it. “Nayoki?” he called out, cautiously.

There was the creak of wood, maybe a chair, then footfalls. “Herald Vanyel. Are you well?”

“I don’t know. I…don’t feel right.” Amazing, how despite the fact that she was keeping him captive and had tied his mind in knots, he was grateful to see her.

She had been courteous to him, taking care to allow him his dignity, and he couldn’t bring himself to hate her for who she worked for. _Leareth’s nearly had me convinced before_. It wasn’t at all surprising that given a person without the support of a Companion and fellow Heralds, even a basically decent person, the man could invoke total loyalty.

She might be under a compulsion. He doubted it, though. Leareth was too smart to rely on compulsions for what was clearly a sensitive role in his organization, and besides, the quick intelligence in her eyes was too unconfined.

“You need not to be sorry.” White teeth flashed in her dark face. “In your body, Sunfish will See better.”

Satisfied, Vanyel added that tidbit to the mental tally. He had suspected Sunfish k’Leshya might be a Healer.

The Kaled’a’in-looking man reappeared, long dark hair was pulled back into a single braid. “Let me see. I will touch you; tell me if it hurts.”

“Um, I’m going to have a hard time doing that, but I’ll try.” He closed his eyes. Being touched at all was still unpleasant and distracting – it didn’t hurt, but it felt like the man was reaching _inside_ him and poking at his disarrayed organs. “That’s weird but fine. That too. That’s…sort of uncomfortable, I – gah! Stop, please, that feels _really bad_.”

“I am sorry.” He felt the cool-wet sensation he could still name as Healing-Gift, and the discomfort settled. “I see the trouble – Nayoki, it is as I told you, it is not healthy to keep him abed so long. Do you think the Master would let us loosen the binding, that he might–”

“I think not,” Nayoki said sharply. Her eyes flicked back to him, apologetic. “I am sorry, Herald Vanyel. You are very powerful.”

“I understand. Leareth doesn’t fully trust me, which is reasonable, I don’t fully trust him either.” No point in hiding that. “If it helps, I’ll swear whatever oaths you want under your Truthsayer Mindhealing-Sight not to fireball this place, if it means I can get up and walk.” Or scratch his own goddamned nose.

Nayoki only shook her head, apologetic. 

Frustration rose, but he nudged it aside; it wasn’t productive to aim his resentment at her personally. “Er, I meant to ask. Where are you two from? You seem like you know each other.” Talking to _them_ like people seemed better than the alternative; they might let something useful slip. Besides, it passed the time, and it made him feel more human.

“And yet we do not look alike,” Nayoki answered for him. “I hail from the Kmbata Empire, to the west. Sunfish is of k’Leshya, our neighbours.”

“To the west?” Vanyel said blankly. “In the Pelagirs?”

A chuckle. “Beyond. If you travel very far, you find mountains. Past them, sea.”

“Oh.” He had never even considered that there might be something _past_ the Pelagirs. “Wait. How in all hells did Clan k’Leshya end up _there_?” He twisted to look at Sunfish. “Also, do you have gryphons?”

He realized the slip when both of them went still.

“How do you know of gryphons?” Sunfish asked, his tone neutral.

“From the Shin’a’in histories.” He managed to answer smoothly. “Urtho’s creation.” Leareth already knew that he knew about Urtho, and might or might not suspect the Tower; as long as he was careful not to reveal how _much_ he knew, he probably wasn’t giving more away. “We’ve never seen them in Valdemar. I thought it was sad, that they might’ve died out after the Mage Wars.”

None of that was a lie; he wasn’t sure how far Nayoki’s Truthsayer ability went, whether it was ‘on’ all the time or only when she was trying, and it was worth being careful. He hadn’t ever seen a gryphon, and he _had_ thought it was sad, though the past tense was operative – and he steered his mind away from the rest.

“I see.” Sunfish was smiling, now, the first real smile Vanyel had seen from him. “You are kind-hearted. Yes, the gryphons are alive and well, in the city of White Gryphon.”

“Good they are to stay there,” Nayoki said dryly.

Vanyel decided against chasing down that cryptic remark. “Sunfish, do you know how your ancestors ended up that far off course?” he asked instead. No wonder no one had ever rediscovered the Lost Clan.

“Our lore is unclear.”

He was still curious about a thousand things, but Sunfish didn’t seem eager to talk. “Nayoki,” he said instead. “This Kmbata Empire. I’ve never heard of it. What’s it like?”

“I will be back soon,” Sunfish interjected, footsteps retreating.

Nayoki bent her head close to his. “Do not to judge his manners harshly. He is stiff because he fears you.”

Vanyel choked back a laugh. “And do you?”

“No.” Her eyes creased at the corners, though the smile failed to reach her lips. “I was once Truthsayer. I See you. You hold no wish to harm, even were you able.” A pause. “You ask of my homeland. We are a member of the great Haighlei Empire. An ancient people. Very…” Her fingers moved in midair. “A word. Not to move?”

“Rigid?” Vanyel suggested. “Unchanging?”

“Unchanging, yes. Tradition weighs heavy, the new is feared. Change comes only when our gods speak, or with the–” and she said a word that Vanyel couldn’t wrap his tongue around.

“The what?”

“In your tongue…” Her eyes moved about. “When the sun goes dark behind the moon, the word is…?”

“An eclipse?”

“Eclipse, yes. Once in twenty years. Change to law and custom is allowed only then, and not easily.”

He thought about the number of reforms Randi had introduced in, gods, was it only a decade? “That sounds stifling.”

A burst of surprised laughter, her head tilting back. “Very much.”

She looked younger when she laughed, Vanyel thought. With her height and deep voice, he had found himself thinking of her as older, but her skin was smooth and unlined; she was probably younger than him.

Her smile faded. “What you call mage-gift, is allowed only to priests. The Mind-Gifts are forbidden, blasphemy to all but Truthsayers – and even then, I was merely to Look. Not to touch. Not to change.” A scowl. “Certainly not to invent, to discover…”

“You were banned from helping people.” _No wonder you left._ And, gods, no wonder she might prefer someone like Leareth over that. Jisa would understand perfectly.

Nayoki lapsed into silence, thoughtful, before finally turning back to him. “You…” An odd, intent look in her blue eyes. “You are _loriganalea.”_ The word slid from her tongue, fluid, beautiful. “Soul-bonded.”

“Yes.” He raised his eyebrows. “Your people know of lifebonds.”

“It is said to be sacred.” A flash of awe, quickly masked. “The work of the gods.”

He grimaced. “The gods part is true enough, I think. They seem awfully pragmatic about it, though.”

She was still staring at him. “Your bond was shattered and remade. I See the cracks.” She shuddered. “To break such a sacred blessing… Who would dare?”

He flinched away from her eyes. “Um, I think it was mostly our gods, actually, but some of the blame is on Leareth–”

She leapt back as though he had burned her. “What?”

“Indirectly,” Vanyel added, “he wasn’t _trying_ to do that.”

She was still staring at him, horrified, white showing all around her eyes.

 _That wasn’t the reaction I expected._ He really hadn’t meant to malign Leareth. “It was mostly an accident!”

Finally, she nodded, and seemed to regain some control. “Herald Vanyel. I…must go. Call if you have need.” And she spun on her heels.

Alone, he tried to catch his breath, and assimilate all the details she had dropped. Not that the customs of a foreign empire he had never heard of were that useful, right now, but. _All information is worth having._

His words had alarmed her. Leareth, it seemed, hadn’t told her anything of his involvement with Krebain, and Tylendel’s resulting death. Could he use that? Turn her against her master?

_Do I want to?_

He closed his eyes. _Center and ground._ Leareth would be back at some point; he would need to be ready–

A hiss of moving air. Startled, his eyes flew open.

The room vanished around him.

* * *

_:Singer:_ Aroon’s mindvoice was thick with something that he couldn’t read. _:Get dressed now and come outside. Bring a waterskin and your pack:_

The _kyree_ neuter wasn’t even in the room; it must have been elsewhere in the caves. “Coming!” Stef shouted, leaping up from the stone ledge he had been using as a chair. It wasn’t like he had been doing anything very productive. He had written his message, using one of Katha’s standard codes and being as cryptic as he could get away with, and sent it off with one of the scouts about three candlemarks ago.

Aroon asking him to bring his pack, with food, extra clothing, and his field-Healing kit, meant this was a longer trip. Could Randi have already left a message? Hope flared, almost painful, as he threw on his outer clothing, supplementing it with a layer of furs that he had crudely stitched together – he’d had a _lot_ of spare time – then adding his cloak overtop.

He reached the mouth of the cave at a sprint, maybe five minutes later. “Aroon, what–” It was late afternoon. It had snowed all morning, though not the blizzards of before, but now a watery sun peeked through wispy cloud cover.

 _:Get on:_ The scout had already nosed its way into the simple harness for one of the sleds they used, usually to drag kills back to the caves more efficiently, lately for carrying Stef. Despite lacking hands, they were remarkably adroit with their claws and mouths, and working in teams they could stretch and cure hides, slice the resulting leather into neat strips, and even tie knots. One of the other scouts dropped a mouthful of furs into the round basket-like structure, tightly woven from supple branches.

Stef clambered in, pulling his knees in to his chest and gripping the rim firmly. “Aroon, where are we going?”

 _:Your barn:_ They were already in motion. _:Hang on. This may get rough:_

“There’s a message?” Stef shouted over the hiss of snow, squinting against the wind. Trees were already flying past on either side, the sled tilting wildly as he clung to the meagre handholds. He trusted Aroon not to slam him into anything, which meant it could be exhilarating rather than terrifying. Mostly. His hindbrain wasn’t quite ready to believe that.

_:Don’t know yet. Daloo wouldn’t say over long-range Mindspeech. Just that we ought to hurry:_

A sensible precaution, Stef thought, even if it was infuriating.

 _:I’ll get us there in a candlemark:_ Aroon promised, long rangy legs flashing.

Stef’s nose and ears were already numb; the hood of his cloak wouldn’t stay on, and he didn’t dare let go to fix it or re-wrap his scarf. He could survive.

Aroon kept his promise; the distance that would be four days’ ride with an ordinary horse, and two even for a Companion, he covered in a little over a candlemark. The scout knew the woods inside and out, and ruthlessly took the most direct route, which had involved several terrifying leaps across gorges that the path laboriously detoured around.

Still, the sun had fallen behind the trees by the time they came into sight of the barn, and the temperature was dropping fast. Aroon had stopped a fair distance out, wriggled out of the harness, and left Stef while it explored the area, checking for traps or observers. The woods around them were silent and empty, remote enough from the bustle of Waymeet that he could have imagined there wasn’t a war at all.

Aroon was being stupidly, frustratingly tight-lipped – tight-minded, rather – as they covered the last few yards on foot, to avoid leaving hard-to-brush-away sled tracks.

The neuter knew what was waiting for them; Stef was sure of it.

 _:Go on:_ it sent finally, pausing at the door, which hung open at a strange angle, hinges rusted in place. It was very dark inside, and it stank of decay and mildew.

 _:Stef, lad, come here:_ Daloo, one of the scouts.

“Stef?” The voice was slurred, weak – and recognizable in an instant. _What?_ Relief and joy and shock and awe mingling in a wave that drowned out thought.

 _:We have found your Vanyel:_ Daloo confirmed, unnecessarily.

Stef nearly fell over in his flight across the uneven mud and rotten straw. “Where – oh, gods, Van–”

_:Shh. We’re over here:_

He followed the voice, stumbling in the darkness, dizzy. _I can’t feel him_. But – no, now that he was reaching, opening himself to it, he could. Just a little. He tripped over the _kyree’s_ body, nearly went sprawling, and dropped to his knees beside the scout instead. Daloo nuzzled at his shoulder and then shifted aside.

Stef’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the dimness; he could just barely make out Vanyel’s features. His lifebonded lay on his side, hair across his face, scantly clad in a sort of linen shift, and shivering despite Daloo’s warmth pressed against him.

“Van.” As gently as he could, he eased Vanyel’s head into his lap. “Oh, gods, Van- _ashke_ …” He couldn’t find any other words, so he bent over and kissed his lover’s forehead, caressing his cheek. Van’s eyes were closed, dried vomit crusted on his cheek and in his hair; the sour smell of it lashed at Stef’s nostrils.

He was in pain. Stef hummed under his breath, pushing with his Gift, and was reward when Vanyel sighed in relief, his breathing slowing and deepening.

A minute or two later, he opened his eyes. “Stef,” he breathed, with the tone of someone who suspected they were dreaming and wanted to cling to the dream as long as possible. “Stef, are you…real…?”

“Pretty sure I am. I can feel you, love.” The lifebond still felt worryingly muted, something was in the way, but the desperate tension of distance was finally easing. “Van, how – what – why are _y_ ou here? What happened?”

The surprised elation had at first driven aside the confusion, but it rose now, curdling into suspicion. _It’s too good to be true._

Was _he_ dreaming? It didn’t feel like a dream. He remembered exactly how he had gotten here, with no dream-logic leaps, and the stink, the cold, the scratchy hay, all felt very real.

“Don’t know,” Vanyel mumbled. “Think I…hit my head…”

That caught his attention, a surge of worry, and the other notes of wrongness were starting to fall together. Vanyel lay so still. Passive. He wasn’t acting like himself at all.

Concern bloomed into fear. “Van, are you hurt? Did he do something to you?” Damn it, if Leareth had tortured him… “Daloo, is he–”

 _:He tells me his power is blocked and his body is restrained without need of ropes:_ the _kyree_ scout answered. _:I am not a mage, nor a Healer, to see how it was done:_ A note of apology. _:Nor do we know how he came to be here. I found him half-conscious when I arrived:_

Stef’s paranoia was in full gear now. Who had known of the message-drop location? Not Vanyel, certainly. Jisa yes. Randi maybe, but how could he have learned so quickly where Leareth had taken him, a task even the _kyree_ scouts had failed at, much less broken Vanyel out? And why, why in all hells, would they leave him _here_ , without making contact or offering any explanation?

…Could Leareth know.

A surge of panic. If Leareth had somehow learned of his message, in spite of every precaution Stef had taken, and decided to lay a trap…

Then Stef had just given himself away, and the _kyree_ too.

“Were there any signs?” he asked, half-desperately.

 _:No trail:_ Daloo answered. _:He was not brought on foot. Nor was a Gate used. Hyrryl has guarded this place with her power since you chose it. She Sensed nothing, neither true-magic nor human Mind-magic:_

Aroon had followed him into the barn, curling up around Stef’s back. Stef’s head was reeling. _:Could it have been another kyree?:_ If Leareth had _kyree_ on his side, among his own forces…

_:No. They might have hidden it from Hyrryl at a distance, but not the traces close up, and we have checked:_

Stef gritted his teeth. It… No, he trusted Jisa, damn it. And he hadn’t drawn a map; his description of the location had relied on some cryptic references that only the two of them ought to share. ‘Two hundred paces from the rock like Silverwing Falls’ – had _anyone_ in Valdemar but him, Jisa, and maybe Brightstar ever seen that landmark in k’Treva? Even if the letter had been intercepted before reaching Jisa, it would have been meaningless to Leareth’s agents.

It had been _one day_. No matter how tightly Leareth might have infiltrated their communication loop, Stef doubted his spies could convey that information back across the mountains in that time, much less plot a way to drop Vanyel here under the _kyree_ ’s noses.

Even if he had, what were they supposed to do? _Not_ bring Van back with them? If they were really in that implausible scenario, they were already too outmatched, and Leareth had as good as won already.

Focus. Think.

“Daloo,” he said abruptly. “Could someone have done it by air?”

Daloo shifted, confused, but answered. _:It is not impossible:_

Stef had been marking off each passing day in charcoal on the wall, and Karis had departed for Iftel the same day that he and Van had ridden out. A fortnight ago. Long enough that Iftel could have offered their forces, including their gryphons – powerfully magical creatures, _flying_ creatures _–_ for an urgent counter-mission across the mountains? Maybe. If anyone could have pulled that off, it was Vkandis’ secret army. Hellfires, maybe the Sunlord Himself had lent a hand.

Still the question of why they had dumped Van here, rather than bringing him back to Haven, but Stef could chew on that later. Another, urgent fear had just slammed into him.

“If it was our side who got him out,” Stef said frantically, “is there any chance Leareth can track him to here?”

 _:No:_ Aroon assured him, rumbling in its throat. _:Hyrryl still cloaks this area. However skilled he may be, right now I doubt the man can locate him on this continent:_

Stef relaxed just a smidgeon. “Thank you.”

And one possible reason why a hypothetical rescue-mission might have dropped Van here instead of back home had just risen to mind. If he were in Haven, word would inevitably get back to Leareth’s spies. This way, hopefully Leareth still had no idea what had become of his prisoner.

 _:Nonetheless:_ Aroon added, _:it would be well for us to return to our caves. Quickly. It tires Hyrryl to hide our presence so thoroughly, and your soul-partner is in need of a Healer’s care. We require the aid of your hands to move him, as he cannot help us:_

“I’m not strong enough to carry him.” Ought they try to move him at all? Restrained without need of ropes… _Oh, gods._ “Van. Van! Did he damage your spine?” Daloo hadn’t said anything, but he wasn’t a Healer; he wouldn’t be able to tell, and Stef hadn’t seen his lifebonded attempt to move at all on his own.

“Don’t think so,” Vanyel mumbled. “Think it’s…magic. Can feel my body…can move…a little.” He demonstrated, twitching in the dirt; it set off a brief coughing fit.

“Shh, Van- _ashke_ , don’t.” Stef squeezed his shoulder, soothing.

Vanyel’s breath caught. “Stop,” he protested. “Please.”

Stef yanked his hand back, alarmed. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Lissa glanced discreetly around the half-empty meeting-room. _Where is everyone?_ This evening’s meeting had been rescheduled a few times already, and even now, Treven was missing. So was Jisa, who had been on the agenda to give them an update on the White Winds mages’ readiness. Randi had apparently suffered some kind of setback, and was taking the evening to rest.

Karis had just arrived, still in her full formal regalia, erect and dignified and not looking nearly as tired as she had to be feeling. She had just gotten back from a day trip home to Sunhame, ramming through an emergency session with her counsellors and the Son of the Sun, and had obtained their approval to send five thousand troops to Valdemar.

Incredible how you could just nip over five hundred to another country, Lissa thought. Permanent Gates had changed everything.

Thanks to her aunt, dead, and her brother, whose chances of coming home in one piece weren’t good. Lissa had nagged the King’s Own for an update again that morning, and gotten a muttered, very distracted ‘sorry, nothing’.

Lissa had sat through a long meeting with Keiran and Lord Marshal Reven that morning, discussing how to fit her new forces in with the existing Guard, and arrange for them to have enough drill-time. Tomorrow they would have to re-juggle that yet again to fit in the Karsite forces. _Why is the reward for a job well done always more work?_ She had to keep reminding herself it was good news.

Dara still looked preoccupied, as did Karis. The two of them kept sharing odd looks.

Probably they knew something Lissa had no business knowing, just like she had no need-to-know why Karis had been away from Haven before. _Don’t pry._

Dara, still giving the appearance of someone who wasn’t quite present, glanced vaguely back and forth. “All right. Might as well get started. Karis. We’re confirmed?”

“Yes.” The Queen inclined her head, golden headdress tilting. “My kingdom’s strength is yours. Five thousand. We might start their movements tomorrow at dawn.”

Dara made a face. “Which is going to be a damned pain.”

As Lissa was well aware. The Gate-terminus had been designed more for security when transporting monarchs than for efficiently moving an army across. Which brought back the unwelcome thought that Leareth very plausibly had permanent Gates of his own, and might have made different design choices.

“Keiran, thoughts?” Dara added after a few beats of silence.

The Lord Marshal’s Herald raised her head. “Anyone here know if we can leave the thing up all day? It’ll be easier to keep it orderly if we don’t have to rush them.”

Silence. Lissa had no idea.

Keiran scowled. “This is why we need some more damned mages in the Senior Circle. Can’t we promote someone?”

“That’s a discussion for later.” Dara’s chalk scratched on her slate. “I can’t say for sure, but I think it should be possible, since most of the energy comes from the Web, and we’ve got enough people here to handle the weather-work side. I guess we could key one of the White Winds mages in and have them do it if we’re worried Nubia won’t be strong enough.” A pause. “Speaking of mages. Karis, do your Sunpriests have any Adepts?”

The Queen shook her head. “Adept-potential Gifts, yes, a few, but they are very young, and lacking in training and experience.”

“Right, it’s yes and no.” Dara looked sheepish. “I keep asking you and forgetting.” A sigh. “Anyway. Don’t worry, we’re not asking you to send any. Just wondering if they could manage a Gate from the Sunhame end.”

In the silence, Lissa knew everyone was thinking the same thing she was. _We’d be in much better shape if only we hadn’t spent four years slaughtering each other._ The war with Karse felt like ancient history, the peace treaty almost a decade ago, but the scars were still there.

Awfully convenient for Leareth, that. Suspicious. Surely someone, in some secret Heraldic meeting-room, had raised the question of whether he might have arranged it all.

Though they couldn’t attribute every single bad thing that happened to Leareth; the man wasn’t omnipotent. And it jarred a little. During that endless war, Leareth had been one of Vanyel’s pillars, offering counsel and comfort, helping her brother hang onto his sanity. Reminding him that even in the bleakest times, there was still something worth protecting.

Like double vision, it made Lissa dizzy just to think about. _Who is he, really?_ From one angle, it wasn’t at all surprising, that a ruthless bloodpath mage would use whatever trickery was to his advantage. Leareth had shown his true colours over and over. Krebain. Father Leren. The dagger trap-spell in Highjorune.

And yet. The same Leareth had shaped her brother into the person he was now. Someone who could stare, clear-eyed, at all the pointless tragedy in the world – and rather than taking it for granted, an immutable background that no mortal could shift, Van had the imagination to see a better world, and to declare that someone ought to build it, impossible or not.

Could both sides of it be true? It felt like the deepest of contradictions, and it made Lissa’s head hurt.

“Moving on,” Dara said briskly. “Rethwellan. Lythiaren’s sending two thousand, Katri can’t possibly hold a Gate long enough to move that many bodies, so we need an alternative.”

Keiran frowned. “I thought the plan was just to send one of the White Winds people? It should be doable for an Adept, right, Savil got more across in Sunhame.”

Lissa winced, the ache of grief rising. How could anyone say her name so matter-of-factly?

“The White Winds people are actually pretty inexperienced at Gating,” Dara answered. “It’s…sort of against their philosophy, right, so it’s a lot to ask, especially if it’s in their homeland, they’re understandably more invested in not messing with the local energy-patterns. Also, I’ll note Savil drained herself unconscious holding the Sunhame Gate for that long, and she did it partly in concert with Van, which was only possible because she was so comfortable with the spell – she had raised _hundreds_ of Gates at that point. Jisa’s been putting the White Winds Adepts through a crash course in concert-Gating and other Valdemaran techniques, but they need a few more days.”

Thoughtful silence.

Lissa frowned, tapping her chin with two fingers. “What about Need? Nani got almost two thousand across with her.” And benefiting from the Sunhame permanent terminus, but they had a threshold on this end too.

Dara and Karis shared another significant look. “Not available,” Dara said.

Huh. Lissa quickly smoothed her frown. If it had something to do with Need’s weird restlessness, earlier… _Not my business._ Need-to-know basis, and she didn’t.

“Brightstar?” Katha suggested. The spymaster hadn’t spoken much; she seemed distracted as well, but not, Lissa thought, by the same matter as Dara and the Queen. “He’s good with Gates, and he’s actually been through Petras, he could go straight there. Isn’t he doing better now?”

Dara scratched the back of her head, looking past Katha. “He, er, had a setback. He’s up for teaching starting tomorrow, we hope, but I don’t think we’d better ask him to do anything strenuous for the next while.”

 _That’s too bad._ Lissa liked the boy. She ought to visit him, she thought; with Van away, he was probably lonely.

“Then I suppose we wait,” Keiran said dully. “Can we at least have Katri get the Healers across?”

“Only to Horn, and it’d wear her out for the day. Unless something changes up north, I think we’re better off waiting until we can do it all at once.” Dara consulted her slate again. “Another point. When I talked to Karna on the Moonpaths, she thought they might be able to offer us aid. It wasn’t a decision they could make on the spot, so I said I’d check back in five days. That’s tomorrow. If they _do_ want to help, their riders ought to be able to get off the Plains and reach the Rethwellan border in, oh, another week to ten days – they’re _good_ , their warhorses can almost keep pace with Companions, and the winter is much milder down there. Rethwellan’s got rougher terrain and worse weather, so it’d take them closer to two weeks to get from there to Petras. That gives us two opportunities – either we arrange for someone to be at the White Winds school who can Gate them direct to Haven, or we have them join in with the Rethwellani army. If they agree to go through a Gate, that is, but if they’re getting their Goddess’ approval to send a war-party off the Plains at all, I assume they’ll have permission to bend their interdiction against magic.”

Damned winter wars, Lissa thought with irritation. Even the Karsites had had the sense to bunker down when the bad weather hit. She had heard enough from Keiran and Lord Marshal Reven, earlier, to gauge just how much it was slowing their preparations in Waymeet – and if it came down to serious fighting, they risked losing as many soldiers to exposure as to enemy blades and mage-fire.

“Which of those we prefer depends on how long it takes Lythiaren to concentrate her forces,” Dara added. “If we’re waiting on them anyway, it might be nice to minimize the number of Gates. That being said, I can’t see that it’ll take her a _month_ , and making the Shin’a’in ride that distance isn’t going to be easy on them or their mounts, no matter how good they are. We’ll be better off if they arrive in fighting form.” She slouched back in her chair, slinging one ankle over her knee. “All that’s still hypothetical. Who knows if their Goddess will agree?”

Keiran scowled. “Hellfires, I’m more concerned about whether Leareth is going to give us another damned month to sort ourselves out.”

Lissa frowned. She would have agreed, but. _Why hasn’t he marched on us already?_ It had been two and a half weeks. Leareth had granted Valdemar time to consolidate a significant force at Waymeet – two thousand soldiers, and in another week it might be ten – and he had done nothing. Why?

The most concerning hypothesis, of course, was that he was deliberately letting them gather all their people in the wrong place, and intended to attack from some other border. Or maybe use Gates and drop his troops right on top of Haven.

“We ought to reconsider buying ourselves some time,” Katha said. “Use the message-drop location, leave a reply. Or do him one better, and send an envoy.”

Lissa blinked, startled.

Keiran’s face had gone mask-like. “You know how I feel about the risk.”

“A dozen of my people volunteered.” Katha raised her chin. “They’re willing to take that on.”

“I’m not worried about him just murdering them.” Keiran’s mouth twisted. “What’s to stop him from ripping our secrets out of their mind and sending them back to us under compulsion?”

Katha didn’t even blink. “We would take precautions. I’ve spoken to Melody; there are things a Mindhealer can do.”

Lissa was still looking back and forth. “Hey,” she said finally. “I think I’m missing something.”

Dara blinked at her. “Oh. Right. I’m so sorry, I forgot you wouldn’t know. Leareth sent us a diplomatic message.”

For a moment, all Lissa could do was blink at her. “What?” she said finally.

“With a very helpful map, a message-drop location, and some other little presents,” Katha added. “Oh, and he claims he wasn’t responsible for the attacks.” 

Lissa realized her jaw was hanging open, and closed it with a click. _Why haven’t you replied already_ was the first question that rose, but it was nearly blotted out by the wave of hope.

If Leareth really hadn’t done it… _Maybe Van won’t have to die._

* * *

“Shh, Van- _ashke_ , it’s all right,” Stef murmured, carefully supporting his head above the water, trying to avoid touching the swollen knot he had found at the back of Van’s skull. Based on the way that his lifebonded had yelped when he grazed it by mistake, it was very tender.

Aroon and Daloo held the leather straps to the basket-litter between their jaws, keeping Van’s body at the surface. Just like they had done with Stef, when he had stupidly let himself nearly freeze to death.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I promise. You’re safe.”

Vanyel had dozed off during their freezing-cold journey back to the caves, which had taken twice as long as the trip there and ended well after dark. Van had protested vehemently when Stef tried to hold him, so he had settled for wrapping a large bearskin around him and holding onto the sides of it, praying desperately that his lifebonded wouldn’t fall out.

Stef had been painblocking as hard as he could, so Vanyel’s distress at being touched wasn’t because it hurt. He was trying not to think too hard about what Leareth or his soldiers might have done to his lifebonded to make him react that way. Van would have been utterly helpless. Stef couldn’t think of anything his lover would find more frightening and humiliating.

Van had woken in a panic when Stef started undressing him, and Stef’s gentle words of reassurance had only partly soothed his alarm; he had outright screamed when they eased him into the hot spring. 

There were torture methods that involved water. Stef knew rather more that he wanted about it, from Katha; Valdemar generally didn’t employ such techniques, but her agents received training in how to respond if captured by one of the countries that did.

 _You cold bastard._ Stef wrestled down the anger. Now wasn’t the time for plotting revenge.

Hyrryl had confirmed that Vanyel was under some kind of spell-block. _I cannot see how to lift it without damaging his mind_ , she had confessed, _though I will study it further on the morrow._ Stef had wanted to weep, and scream at her, but he had almost absorbed the disappointment now. Focus on the here-and-now.

 _:Rrah!:_ Aroon sent. _:Come. He is here:_ The _kyree’s_ golden eyes turned on Stef. _:Rrah is our Healer:_

Stef sagged with relief, smiling gratefully at the dark-furred _kyree_ female who had just eased in beside the pool. “I’m so glad, thank you so much…” He was babbling again.

 _:I confess I have never before Healed one of your kind:_ the _kyree_ sent. _:I will do my best. Flesh and bone is all the same, I suppose:_

Vanyel moaned and twitched when she rested her paw on his bare chest, but calmed quickly. Stef watched, seething with impatience.

 _:No broken bones or internal injuries:_ the Healer sent, an endless minute or two later. _:His spine is undamaged. He has suffered a hard blow to the head, but there is no bleeding inside the skull:_ A second, longer pause. _:I See traces of more serious wounds, that appear to have been quick-Healed several days ago:_

From the fight, Stef had to assume. Leareth had wanted his prisoner alive.

 _:I would guess he has taken falls or been hit a number of times:_ Rrah went on. _:That damage is recent, but not severe:_

Stef had noticed himself that Van was bruised all over. Mostly fresh marks, still darkening to purple, but layered on top of older bruises that had faded to yellow.

 _:Other than that, he is dehydrated and badly chilled:_ the Healer added. _:I will attempt some Healing on his head, though time and rest will do him the most good:_

“Thank you,” Stef said again. “Van, did you hear that? You’re going to be all right. We’ve just got to get you warm.” And clean. Clean was going to be a massive improvement.

Vanyel whimpered. “Stef, I don’t – I feel _bad_.”

“Bad how? Are you hurting?” Stef could painblock at all while he was talking, he had discovered to his surprise, somehow letting his Gift run in the background, but he couldn’t push as hard.

“I don’t know!” Frustration, embarrassment. “Just…wrong…”

“I’m really sorry.” His chest ached in sympathy. “Van, I have to wash you. You’re filthy.” He was covered in muck and his own vomit. “Rrah, can you tell what’s bothering him?”

 _:I am not sure:_ the Healer confessed. _:After the cold outside, the heat will be uncomfortable. Perhaps it is that. And drinking water ought help him:_

“You’re fine,” Stef whispered. “Just relax. You’ll feel better once you’re warm enough.” A note of confusion. “Rrah, can you tell why he was sick before? Did they give him bad food?”

_:It could be from striking his head:_

Could someone get seasick from being carried around the skies by a flying gryphon? It seemed possible.

“Stef…” To his surprise, he saw that Vanyel’s eyes were filling with tears. “You’re…really here?” he choked out. “ _I’m_ really here…?”

“You’re really here.” He stroked Vanyel’s forehead, searched frantically for the right words of reassurance. “Shh, hey, it’s all right to cry. I can’t imagine what you went through. I’m sorry I wasn’t there – gods, Van- _ashke_ , I’m so sorry. But I’m here now. Everything’s going to be all right.”

* * *

Outside, the horizon was lightening to a mother-of-pearl shade, the last stars fading.

Jisa, curled in Treven’s armchair, yawned and turned away from the window. “I haven’t had any ideas, Trev. Have you?”

She had been trying. _Really_ trying. Even after Dara had fled the meeting-room for some other commitment, the others trailing off in her wake to their respective duties, Jisa hadn’t gone back to her own tasks; instead, she had trudged to the stables, saddled Enara, and ridden until the sun was low in the sky, just thinking. Turning it over and over in her mind.

Her hasty attempt to recruit the aid of her Elemental allies, which she should have done right away, had borne no fruit. She didn’t dare tell them much, they were terrible gossips, but she had gotten them a sample of Vanyel’s magical work and asked them to search for its maker, and they had turned up nothing.

She had let her mind stray further and further, tossing up the wildest possibilities. Send in _all_ of the White Winds mages in disguise. See if Need was willing to bond to one of the damned gryphons from Iftel and have them fly in; Skatashan was female, right? Have Dara find and arm-twist her _leshy’a Kal’enedral,_ on the hope that spirits which could manifest as solid enough to spar with could do so into a locked room. Trick Need by using Mindhealing to convince one of the White Winds Adepts that they were Jisa. Test Lissa for potential Gifts and use Need to awaken them, then have Brightstar quick-Heal her – Jisa had speculated for minutes on that one before thinking to check, and unfortunately Van’s sister had no dormant Gifts at all.

Go into the Web and directly petition the Star-Eyed Goddess. Deliberately arrange a near-death experience for herself and hope that the goddamned Shadow-Lover turned up to speak with her so she could blackmail him into somehow fixing this.

Jisa had, in fact, gone ahead and done a tour of every temple in the city, spending a half-candlemark in each praying to the respective gods. It couldn’t do any harm, surely, and the time spent in trance had helped settle her seething thoughts. But no divine voice had answered her calls.

She had stumbled back to the Palace and eaten a quiet, awkward supper with her parents in the royal suite. They seemed barely aware of her presence, turned inward, seeing only each other. Shavri had accepted what her daughter had to do, absorbing yet another blow from an unforgiving world, and set it aside to focus on the time she had left with her love.

Papa didn’t have long. Jisa wasn’t sure whether _he_ knew that, but Shavri did. Her eyes gave it away.

_Today might be my last goodbye._

Jisa had left Need with Shavri – the blade had belonged to Mother first, after all, and it might be _their_ last goodbye as well – and gone to pace alone in the snow. And had _really_ shut down her filters, proposing ideas that were so silly she would never dare share them even with Treven. Send Lady Treesa to have hysterics at Leareth until he relented and gave her son back just to make her go away. Send Karis, gambling that Vkandis would step in with another miracle. Convince Brightstar to attempt a miniature version of Leareth’s god-ritual with her, and send in the resulting baby god to rescue her father.

None of her crazy plans had led to anything better; the closest had been her idea of raising a blind Gate and sending someone else through, but it would be absurdly risky, and the question was still ‘who’?

She and Treven had fallen asleep with their arms wrapped around each other, holding on tight. Jisa he wasn’t sure if he had actually slept at all; first light had found him still holding her, wide awake, his face grey with fatigue and worry.

“Trev?” she said again.

Staring into the distance, he took a long time to answer. “No. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” What else was there to say? She closed her eyes. “I don’t – I wish it was different.”

It wasn’t like her own plan was any good. She wasn’t allowed to cross the mountains; all she could do was find Stef, and hope that between the two of them and his _kyree_ allies – of which Dara and even Treven were still ignorant – they could come up with something.

“I should go bathe,” she heard herself say. A bitter smile twisted her face. “Who knows when I’ll have another chance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have officially just about finished the final rewrites on the ending! Thus, I am Rewarding Myself for productive writing days with bonus chapters.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bonus chapter!

Vanyel’s head was pounding, despite the snow-pack that Stef had laid on his forehead. And his nose itched. He refused to call Stef over just to scratch it for him; it was unwanted reminder of just how dependent he was, unable to do anything for himself. _I hate it so much._

His eyes stung, a lump swelling in his throat, but he forced it back, focusing on his breathing. _Don’t you dare start crying again._ Stay in control.

He felt incredibly pathetic. Useless.

And he didn’t understand it. _Why can’t I keep it together?_ He had been able to face his captivity calmly; why had he fallen apart the instant he was safe?

The godawful headache wasn’t helping. Neither was the fact that he had no idea _how_ he had ended up here. It gave him an awful, careening feeling of helplessness. He wasn’t in control; what was the point of pretending?

He missed Savil. She could have made everything feel a little more salvageable, just by sitting with him and stroking his hair, like she had done a hundred times – and she was gone. She would never sit vigil at his bedside again. Never chide him for being a goddamned idiot…

 _You’re not here. You’re not anywhere._ The grief was like an arrow through his heart.

Yfandes wasn’t there. He missed her desperately, but she was still captive, and there was nothing he could do to help her; he had to take it on faith that Leareth had been telling the truth and wasn’t planning to harm her. He couldn’t access his Gifts, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even defend himself, much less Stef–

Stef had handled his side just fine, Vanyel reminded himself. _I should be proud of him._ Not this painful, confusing mix of shame, self-disgust, and wounded ego. His lifebonded had bathed him like an infant; hellfires, Stef had presumably been cleaning him when he inevitably pissed himself; and he shouldn’t have minded, but he felt utterly humiliated.

 _Stop it._ The thought sounded like Melody, and Vanyel scrabbled at the pointless spiral. Yfandes wasn’t here to nag him. He was on his own. No one else was going to call him out for being stupid and negative.

It was hard to resist. Ruminating was a way to at least distract himself from the sheer buzzing discomfort coming at him in all directions, his body loudly informing him that something was wrong, but still too scrambled for him to decipher.

Plausibly he was dehydrated again; his mouth felt parched. Stef had been spoon-feeding him broth at intervals, but in addition to the humiliation of asking for that, Van was concerned that some of the garbled alarm-signals from his body were nausea. He desperately didn’t want to make himself sick again; being violently ill when his body was mostly out of his control had been among the worst experiences of his life.

For the hundredth time, he reminded himself that his situation could have been a lot worse. Leareth’s magical chains might still be on him, but he was out of the man’s reach. Probably. And he was among friends.

_We need a plan._

In the _kyree_ caves, lit by coloured floating lights, it was impossible to tell whether it was noon or midnight. How long had it been? Everything since the presumed head injury was a jumbled blur. Vanyel recalled twilight falling around him, glimpses of snow and bare trees, before he closed his eyes and fled from all of it, chasing a place to hide inside his own mind where he wasn’t freezing-cold and in pain. He remembered weeping uncontrollably, Stef hovering close by but carefully not touching him, and other times, waking from confused nightmares to his lifebonded’s soothing voice.

He longed for the comfort of his partner’s arms, but with the tangled sense-confusion of the spell-block, plus his aching head and whatever else was wrong, made actual touch too unpleasant to stand for long. It felt horribly unfair. He couldn’t even mindtouch his partner; it seemed the trickle of Thoughtsensing that Leareth had allowed him wasn’t enough to reach Stef’s un-Gifted mind.

 _Get it together._ It was probably the next day by now, he could think coherently again, and he couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity any longer.

Deep breath. “Stef?” he called out.

A scuffle. “I’ll be right there, Van- _ashke_.” Footsteps, then the creak-and-hiss of leather shifting on itself, and Stef’s hazel eyes were peering into his face. “Good morning, love. How are you feeling?”

“Like hell,” he managed thickly.

“I’m sorry. Is it all right if I get you propped up? I’ve got some more painkillers.”

“Of course.” Vanyel closed his eyes, forcing himself to lie still and breathe while Stef lifted him. His sense of balance was still missing, and having his aching head moved made him feel like a child’s ball being batted about by a cat, ricocheting in all directions. Ironic, how it wasn’t Leareth’s people who had caused much of his current misery; presumably it had been rough handling from his unknown rescuer. Which made it harder to resent it, but he could have done without the concussion.

He submitted to Stef pouring some bitter-herb tea into him, a spoonful at a time. Finally, acclimatized to his new position, he managed to focus on Stef’s face again, trying for a self-deprecating smile. “Stef, listen, I’m sorry I was such a disaster last night–”

“Don’t be.” Stef bent to kiss his forehead. “You were in shock. Van, you were _kidnapped_. A horrible thing happened – of course that would get to you. It’s not weakness, and it’s not your fault.” Stef’s eyes were fixed on him, radiating earnestness. “I’m not a Mindhealer. Hyrryl says they don’t have one, I’m sorry. But…I’m here for you, whatever you need. Whatever it takes to make it right.”

Vanyel, startled, laughed.

“What?” Stef said, still soft and gentle. “Van, are you all right?”

Unease niggled at him, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m fine,” he pushed out. “Stef, it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t hurt me.”

Stef stared at him. Blank for a moment, then calculation flashed in his eyes. “Van- _ashke_ ,” he said finally, carefully. “He _did_. He blocked your Gifts and paralyzed you. And, no offence, but you seem pretty traumatized.”

“…Do I?”

Stef’s eyebrows rose into his hair. “Don’t give me that. You panic every time I touch you. Van. Listen, I’ve…seen how people act, when they’ve been treated badly. You can tell me, all right? I love you. Nothing is going to change that. I won’t – think worse of you, or be disgusted, no matter what.”

Vanyel blinked at him, searching for words.

Stef’s shoulders rose and fell. “It’s all right if it hurts too much to talk about,” he said gently. “I don’t want to push you more than you’re ready for.”

 _Oh, gods_. “Stef,” Vanyel said, holding his gaze. “I wasn’t tortured. Aside from the mind-block, Leareth’s people treated me well. It wasn’t fun being a prisoner, but they tried to keep me comfortable.”

Stef looked dubious. “Van, I saw the bruises.”

“That wasn’t Leareth’s fault.” He had been poking at the missing block of time, in between the final words he had exchanged with Nayoki and clawing his way back to consciousness in the cold and dark; he still couldn’t recall a face, or voice, but there were a few disjointed glimpses. “It’s from the rescue. I remember a tiny bit – I suddenly wasn’t in the room anymore, I fell into stone and banged my head. Someone must’ve grabbed me in a hurry, and dropped me a few times.” Unsurprisingly, everything had gotten blurry after striking his head. “I definitely don’t remember getting hit or anything when I was actually there – or any sign of injuries I don’t remember getting.

Stef still didn’t look like he believed it. “Van, there’s ways of hurting someone that don’t leave marks. That…don’t have to involve causing physical pain at all…” He hesitated, biting his lip. “Hyrryl said it might be hard to remember, if it was bad enough…”

…Belatedly, Vanyel pieced together what assumption Stef was making. “Oh. Oh, gods. Stef, no. I definitely wasn’t raped – also, _ew_. Get your mind out of the gutter. Leareth wouldn’t let his people do that.”

Stef blinked. “But–”

“The reason I didn’t want you touching me is completely unrelated! I just don’t feel well. Probably the knock on the head. And the spell-block makes my body feel really weird.”

“Oh.” Stef sat back, blinking. He rubbed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Completely sure.” Vanyel thought about it for a moment. “I mean, it’s possible they did…things to me…while I was unconscious, there are gaps I don’t remember, but since I wouldn’t’ve had any idea, I can’t see that it matters.”

“Hmmff.” Stef’s eyes rested on him, still brimming with concern. “Van, you were incredibly upset yesterday. If it’s not because Leareth hurt you… Why?”

“I keep asking myself that.” A fresh wash of shame, and he found his eyes stinging again. _Damn it._ “Stef, I – I was scared. Gods, I was completely terrified.” He hated the betraying crack in his voice.

“Shh, I know. It’s all right.”

“When I was a prisoner, I was trying to hold it together. Focus on the mission. I’d had a chance to absorb it, I guess, accept it. Then all of a sudden everything was different, nothing made sense, and…it seemed too good to be true, that you were there, I kept thinking it had to be a dream and any second it would turn into a nightmare. Once it really sank in, that it _was_ you, and I was safe… Guess the rest of it hit me, and I felt all the things that I didn’t have time to feel before. Oh, and not to mention I felt absolutely dreadful, that didn’t help.”

“Mmm. That makes sense.” Stef’s fingertips brushed his cheek, tentative. “I guess I was imagining the worst.”

“I can’t blame you. Must’ve looked that way. And, Stef, I mean, I think it did get to me. He didn’t torture me, but just knowing that he had me that overpowered, that he could do whatever he wanted – that I wasn’t in control – I _really_ don’t like being helpless.” A grimace. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m upset with him about it. But I can’t be angry, really, because I understand why. He didn’t know what I was coming north to do. And…I was at his mercy, but he really didn’t abuse it.”

“I understand.” Stef’s fingertips explored his hairline, right at the edge of where he could locate the touch, then froze. “Sorry, is that all right?”

“It’s fine.” The mud in his head was rising again, but he fought against it. There was something important, something he was forgetting, a thread dropped over and over…

_I’m such an idiot._

“Stef, we need to open communications with Leareth again.” Of course his lifebonded wouldn’t know about their final conversation, the Truth Spell, the most critical piece; what had Vanyel been expecting, that Stef would read it directly from his mind?

Stef went very still. “Van. What.”

“He said he wasn’t responsible for Savil or k’Treva. I didn’t believe him, obviously, but I asked him to make his case, and eventually I convinced him to come in person and let me cast a Truth Spell. I had just enough Thoughtsensing unblocked to make the first stage work.” Vanyel felt breathless, dizzy. “He wasn’t lying.”

Stef opened his mouth and closed it, several times. His eyes drifted past Vanyel’s shoulder; he stared silently into nothing for a long time.

“What does that mean?” he said finally.

Vanyel swallowed. “Maybe it just means he can fool a Truth Spell. But it’s information, right, and – it points in the direction of this all being a misunderstanding.”

“Huh. We didn’t misunderstand k’Treva blowing up. If Leareth means it, then…this was enemy action.”

“By a common enemy,” Vanyel agreed. “I want to keep talking.”

He could almost see the thoughts flashing behind Stef’s eyes, a dozen expressions darting across his face. “Some other actor. An enemy to both of us. _Who?_ ” He answered his own question a fraction of a second later. “The Star-Eyed Goddess. That must’ve been Leareth’s first guess, right.”

“You’re a lot quicker than me,” Vanyel said faintly.

“It’s the obvious pick.” Stef’s voice was matter-of-fact. “She has power over the Tayledras. Hellfires, Heartstones basically _are_ Her. And Changecreatures come from the Pelagirs…”

Abruptly, Stef shuddered, curling around his stomach. “Van, this has some _really_ scary implications.”

“I know.”

“–Do you?” Stef peered into his eyes. “You’re not panicking enough. Heartstone, right? In Haven?”

“…Oh.” No, he hadn’t, quite, explicitly drawn that link in the chain.

“Not that I know what we’d _do,_ if it’s true.” Stef tugged at his hair, scowling. “We could try to warn people, but who’d believe us – it sounds exactly like Leareth’s misinformation, right. And no one but you can shut it down, and all our magical defences are relying on it…” A pause. “You _could_ shut it down, right? If we had to, and you were in Haven.”

“Probably? I don’t know how off the top of my head, I’d have to figure something out.”

And, of course, they weren’t in Haven, Vanyel didn’t have his Gifts, and it would be approximately treason to consider doing it without Randi’s permission

“We don’t know that it was Her,” he said wearily. “If it was, well, I guess we have to hope flattening Haven isn’t in Her interests. Since presumably She wants Valdemar to fight him and win.” 

* * *

“Huh,” Dara slouched back in her chair, looking thoughtfully across the desk at Jisa. “That might actually work.”

Jisa was alone with her in the office of the King’s Own, having just finished explaining her plan. Conveniently, Tran was busy holding an audience. _He doesn’t even know._ Papa hadn’t argued with Treven’s choice to tell as few people as possible.

On her way here, Jisa had swung by the Mindhealers’ Collegium for a quick conference with Melody, and snuck in a visit to her baby sister along with it. If her gamble went badly, she might never see Arven again, but she was trying hard not to dwell on that. 

First problem: however dangerous it was for Jisa to go poking around north of the Valdemaran border, the danger was worse if Leareth had any inkling of it and started searching for her.

Solution: depart in secret.

Second problem: it was hundreds of miles away, weeks to travel overland. Jisa, having never been north, could only do a blind Gate, which they had judged was too risky since it might land her anywhere within twenty miles.

Their resources: the mages of White Winds. In fact, there was already a Master mage on site in Waymeet, raising a Gate once a day to transport supplies and volunteers. Leareth wouldn’t observe anything out of the ordinary.

It was too conspicuous to just walk through, though, and Jisa had rejected hiding inside a crate; it was too likely that a White Winds-trained mage would notice her, no matter how hard she was shielding, and she _mostly_ trusted her allies there but they weren’t nearly as well-vetted as the Heralds.

However, she knew and trusted some better than others, and one particular former teacher of hers was right here in Haven. And White Winds Adepts could create next-to-undetectable illusions, harnessing the biddable energy of the Elemental Planes to mask the traces of magic with even _more_ magic.

Leareth’s spies couldn’t guess where she had gone if, to all appearances, she was still in Haven.

The rest had come together piece by piece.

The Mindhealers were short-staffed. Brightstar was well enough to teach, now; it seemed quite sensible to put _him_ in charge of his fellow White Winds mages, and send Jisa back to her usual duties. None of the Heralds, or Healing staff, would question it.

Waymeet was desperate for volunteers. It would be equally unsurprising if an adventurous fifteen-year-old senior trainee Mindhealer went north, with the express permission of her grandmother, the dean of their Collegium. 

Her White Winds recruits weren’t involved in other logistics. They knew nothing about the staffing at Healers’, much less the tiny Mindhealers’ Collegium. She didn’t need to tell Alethra who Clara was, only swear her to secrecy; she might, not untruthfully, hint that her papa was worried about an attempt on her life and wanted a decoy in place.

With the Healers, at least, Clara could do a reasonable job of impersonating her. They knew each other well; Jisa had actually tutored the other girl. They couldn’t fool the Companions, of course, but if Rolan told them it was for Jisa’s safety, they wouldn’t ask questions and would keep it secret from their Heralds; any Herald who started to get suspicious could be briefed on the ‘secret’ cover story about preventing assassinations.

It wasn’t even really a lie, Jisa thought wryly. It _would_ get her out of reach of assassins. And, in a way, it really was for her safety, just not in the way anyone would think.

The difficulty was Enara. ‘Clara’ couldn’t pass through the Gate with a Companion. Jisa had considered Gating her in separately once she was there, but even if she found a shielded Work Room to lurk in, and managed to sneak in and out of it unseen, it would still throw off the energy-currents, and the mage on site would notice and plausibly gossip in earshot of spies.

Also, Need. She doubted the blade would get past an anxious and paranoid White Winds mage. Enara lacked hands, but she at least had saddlebags. No one was very happy about this plan, but in the end, they had agreed that Enara and Need would make their own way north, overland. Even at Enara’s fastest riderless pace, it would take several days.

Several days in which ‘Clara’ would do the work she had been assigned, after which she would go to Agnetta in tears, confessing that she had thought she was brave enough, but being so close to the Border and surrounded by troops was _really frightening_ and she wanted to go home. And not through a Gate, it had been awful – some people did find Gates worse than others, and ‘Clara’ would put on a performance about it on her arrival, for verisimilitude. ‘Clara’ would instead arrange herself a ride home with a caravan.

Agnetta, busy as she was, wasn’t likely to follow up, especially not if Melody’s next letter confirmed having gotten the message from her sheepish granddaughter. No loose threads for a spy to tug on; it wouldn’t be clear until weeks later that ‘Clara’ hadn’t gone south down the Trade Road at all.

Jisa was proud of the plan. It was _twisty_. She couldn’t wait to tell Stef.

Dara raked a hand through her hair. “It’s a little dangerous for Clara.”

“A little bit.” Jisa had hesitated for a long time on that aspect. “My papa can give her guards, since she’s supposed to be _me_. She’s not helpless, either, she’s in weapons lessons and Melody’s going to teach her the set-command trick. Melody wasn’t worried, and thinks she’ll be delighted to do it.” Jisa hadn’t even told her teacher the true reason why, though Melody had probably guessed it was more complicated than the cover story. Jisa could convince Clara by being the right amount of sulky and resentful about it.

Treven was making a face. “And I have to pretend to…”

“Be married to her, yes. Sorry.” Jisa squeezed his hand apologetically. “I don’t think you have to pretend that hard. We haven’t been very affectionate in public.” She suspected Clara would enjoy the play-acting. Treven was very handsome.

Dara sighed heavily, chin falling to her chest. “I don’t like it, but…if we’re doing this at all, which _apparently_ we are,” an incredulous headshake, “this is a solid set of precautions.” A pause. “Communications. We can give you a one-time-use code-book, like we did for Katri, but we still need a way for us to get your messages.”

Jisa thought silently for a minute. Her options were broader than Stef’s. “I could go in under an illusion and drop off letters, I’d just have to avoid mages.” Which wasn’t going to get any easier, as time passed and their forces concentrated in Waymeet. “If you have to get news to me, there’s the message-drop. It’s not a _lot_ of risk, but I assume you’d have to send one of Katha’s agents to pick up messages, and even if they don’t know why, someone could follow them. So we shouldn’t use it any more than necessary.”

Mindspeech was out – even boosting, she didn’t have the range, it was nearly four hundred miles. It was too detectable anyway, as was communication-spell and its variants. Still an option in a true emergency, as was the more secure Pool of Imaging – but she would be vulnerable while casting it, and as good as shouting her location to any mage within twenty miles.

“Pigeons?” Treven suggested.

“Can be tracked, and they don’t do well in the cold,” Dara reminded him.

Treven’s eyes took on a speculative look. “What about Brighstar’s hawk?”

“Oh. That’s not a crazy idea,” Jisa agreed. “Bondbirds are smart, and they’ve got a bit of Thoughtsensing and some mage-sensitivity, she’d have a better chance of _finding_ me. Four hundred miles is a long way to fly, though.”

“Wait,” Dara interjected. “Jisa. You and Brightstar can both go to the Moonpaths, right?”

Now she felt like an idiot. “Um, we haven’t tried it for communicating over long distances, it’d be harder to find each other. Plus there’s coordinating to be there at the same time. I don’t think we can count on being able to get each other’s attention like the _leshy’a Kal’enedral_ did for your Shin’a’in friend. …How’s Brightstar today? Could we test it before I leave?”

Dara shook her head. “You didn’t hear? He’s at the House of Healing again. Featherfire got worried. It’s just backlash, but Gemma said he badly overextended himself and she’s keeping him there a day to make sure he rests.” She rolled her eyes. “Said he’s much too like his father.”

Jisa bit down on an inappropriate nervous giggle. “Hmm. That does remind me, we’ve both got extra-planar allies. They can pass on simple messages. They’re also huge gossips, but if we use a code that won’t matter as much.”

Treven’s eyes were suddenly alert. He glanced at Dara, then back at her. _:Jisa:_ he sent. _:Our dream:_

 _:I know:_ She tightened her directional shields. _:I was thinking that too. I don’t know how to have it on purpose, though, it just happens when it wants:_

Not something they could count on for spy-reports. Still, the prospect of being separated from her lifebonded – her husband – was a lot less agonizing knowing they could still talk sometimes. And do other things.

Damn it, though, she was still going to miss him so much. And Arven, and Brightstar, and Mother, and Papa. Even Melody.

Deep in her core, she could admit to herself that she was terrified, and that the thought of failing, screwing it all up, was almost worse than death.

Neither Dara nor Treven spoke.

Jisa pulled the hard-earned White Winds calm around herself like a cloak. “So that’s decided?” She rose. “I’ll go pack. Dara, can you hunt down Alethra and brief her on the cover story?” She stretched, and paused at the door. “Oh, by the way, has anyone seen Sola around?”

“What?” Dara said, eyes opening wide. “No. Why?”

“Arven was asking after her, is all.”

“Oh.” Dara turned and bent over the slate on her desk, studying something. “She’s probably busy.”

* * *

Arven yawned, stretched, and opened her eyes.

She could see from the light through her curtains that it was in the afternoon. Andy said it was normal to get all sleepy after their sessions, because being Healed was tiring. Today had been very exciting – they had taken her through the usual exercises, to help her muscles get strong again, and then said that the stump of her leg was healed enough, and let her strap on a wooden foot and try to walk on it, just as a test. She was good at hopping on one leg, but having a fake foot was better even if it felt very odd to balance on. The artificer had even promised to do the final version so that her favourite shoes would fit on it.

She sat up – and squealed with delight. “Sola!” She couldn’t scramble out of her bed fast enough. “Sola, I’m so glad. Where _were_ you?” Her best friend the Suncat had been gone all night, and hadn’t even said good morning, or come to steal any of her breakfast.

Sola, curled at the bottom of her bed, stretched as well. _:I’m sorry, sweetheart:_

She looked tired, Arven thought. She was all flat, like a cat-rug, and her mindvoice was slow and shaky. And with overtones a bit like the Suncat was trying to hide something behind her back. It made Arven remember the way _she_ had felt when she had sneaked into the kitchen and taken one of the sweet-pastries, the best kind with blackberries inside, and then tried to stuff it under her gown and look innocent when her nurse caught up with her.

“Sola,” she said, swinging over the side of the bed and crawling around to her. Crawling was easier than hopping. “Sola, were you _naughty_?”

The Suncat gave her a piercing, haughty look. _:Why would you think such a thing?:_

“You look all guilty.” Arven had _lessons_ in how to tell when people were lying, because someday she would be a Queen. “You were gone. All night. You never do that.” She had been so frightened, by herself. Sola was the one who watched to make sure there were no monsters under her bed or coming through the door, and if she was there, Arven didn’t need to worry. She didn’t need to pretend to be brave in front of Sola.

Still, she was a big girl now, she could be brave by herself, and she had.

_:I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about:_

Sola’s mindvoice was still funny. She looked like Arven felt when she had just been shouted at by her tutor.

Though not only guilty. Also…smug? Like she she had done something _very_ clever. Arven remembered feeling that way when she had gotten to stay up wonderfully late at the autumn festival, by talking to Herald-Mage Savil who didn’t know when her bedtime was.

Now she felt very sad. Herald-Mage Savil was dead, and everyone had said it wasn’t her fault, but she felt a little bit like it was. If she had only held onto Mother’s hand just a little bit harder.

She didn’t need to know what mischief her friend had gotten up to, she decided, just like Sola sometimes knew that Arven had done something sneaky and clever, but didn’t ask so she wouldn’t have to tattle.

Arven cuddled up to the Suncat. “It’s all right. I won’t tell anybody.”

* * *

Hyrryl lowered her white jaws to the floor. _:I am sorry, Herald Vanyel. This is all I can safely do:_

“Thank you for trying.” Reclining like an oversized doll in his fur-lined stone nook, Vanyel wrestled back the disappointment and managed a weak smile.

It was, apparently, late afternoon; this deep in the caves, he couldn’t tell at all. He had spent most of the day sleeping, with Stef waking him every so often and coaxing fluids into him. His head was still sore, but no longer felt ready to explode every time Stef moved him, and the fog had receded somewhat.

The _kyree_ shaman had spent some time earlier in the day studying the spell-binding on him, but hadn’t wanted to attempt to break it until he was ready to actively cooperate. She couldn’t even See all of the working; Vanyel had offered a guess that it was because much of it hadn’t been done by mage-craft at all, but through Nayoki’s Mindhealing Gift.

Ironically, thanks to Nayoki’s modifications to let him talk to Leareth, he was much worse off now than he would have been if they had left it alone. Everywhere she had touched, even the purely mage-crafted aspects of the spell-block were cemented into his mind, stabilizing it at multiple points. Hyrryl had hoped that once she sliced through the few parts of it she could See clearly, he would be able to break free of the rest from the inside, but it seemed not.

Stef reached to scratch the ruff around Hyrryl’s neck. “Thank you.”

The first snip had given Vanyel back his inner ear’s sense of balance, which helped vastly, even with his sense of everything below the neck still scrambled. The second break had considerably brightened his sense of Stef’s presence, as well as what felt like unblocking his bond with Yfandes – but he still couldn’t feel her, presumably because the bond was blocked from her side as well. Hyrryl had considered cutting through the main block around his mage-gift, but she couldn’t See it as well, and Vanyel worried that it might give him back the use of his channels without actual control. Twitching his limbs by reflex when startled was one thing; uncontrolled flailing with his Gifts would be much worse.

 _:It is a fascinating working:_ Hyrryl sent. _:Do you recall how it was done?:_

Vanyel grimaced. “Quickly. Well, the first part. I was holding them off, and then I assume they got something through my shields and…I was down, just like that. I think that part has to have been a trap-spell, Mindhealing takes longer.”

A trap-spell that complex would be impossible to cast on the fly. It must have been set in an artifact, mostly cast in advance so that the final step could happen near-instantaneously – but that was almost _more_ terrifying, that anyone could lay and stabilize such an intricate, delicate working in advance.

 _:Interesting:_ Hyrryl stretched out both paws in front of her, arching her back. _:And frightening, that this Leareth has such capabilities:_

“Yes. I know.” Vanyel wondered whether this had already been known to Leareth, or whether the man had started researching it once he learned of Vanyel’s existence and absurd Gifts. It could have been purpose-designed for him.

Did Nayoki not know of Jisa’s little trick for blocking Gifts with no other effects? He would have much preferred that. Of course, Leareth might well prefer the version that left him more thoroughly incapacitated.

Hyrryl rose. _:I will leave you to rest, now:_ She padded away.

Stef brushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. “Van- _ashke_ , can you drink a little more broth?”

“I’ll try.”

“Rrah said that having something in your stomach would help,” Stef reminded him. He lifted the wooden travel-cup to Vanyel’s lips. “Just a sip.”

“You are so irritating.” Vanyel obeyed, wincing as a belch rose. “Sorry. Stef, listen, we need to plan. I’ve had long enough to wallow in my feelings.”

A flash of surprised pleasure in Stef’s face. “Oh! I’ve been banging my head on it all day. Didn’t think you’d be, er, ready to help for awhile.”

Vanyel longed to reach for his hand. “What do you have so far?” There was something he was forgetting, again… “Oh! Please tell me you’ve got some idea who rescued me.”

“Hmm?” Stef’s voice was absent, his eyes far away. “Oh, I think it might’ve been the gryphons. From Iftel. They could’ve gotten to you fast, and dropped you off without leaving a trail.”

It didn’t feel quite right. “Maybe,” Vanyel allowed.

“I did consider whether it was a trick,” Stef added, still not looking at him. “I can’t be sure, but I don’t think so – I can’t see how Leareth could’ve known about the place. I only got a message out to Jisa two days ago, and the way I sent it would’ve been really hard to intercept.”

“I don’t think it was him,” Vanyel agreed. “It’s not impossible, but why then, we weren’t done talking–”

That was when the rest caught up with him. “Wait. You sent word to _Jisa_?”

His lifebonded wriggled his shoulders. “Most secure method I could think of. I pretended to be a Herald who works for Katha, and dropped it off through Mindhealers’. And I, er, used Melody’s cipher.”

“Jisa taught you?” Vanyel scowled. “You didn’t tell me that. Doesn’t seem very ethical.”

Stef flushed. “Hey, listen, it’s a good thing she did. She should’ve got the message about a day and a half ago. There’s a mage in Waymeet doing a Gate once a day for supply-runs.”

“White Winds?”

“I assume so. Agnetta said foreign. Haven’t heard back yet. The _kyree_ sent a scout to check the message-drop location I gave Jisa, but there wasn’t anything. Just you.”

“Huh.” Conveniently packaged and left somewhat that only Stef, his daughter, and whichever trusted friends she had shared it with could have known about.

If anyone could turn around in a _day_ and produce a scheme to break him out of Leareth’s stronghold, it was Jisa, but he still couldn’t think how.

“We need your Gifts back,” Stef went on. “Seems Hyrryl can’t help us. Damn it, I wish we could just go to Waymeet, they’ve got a Mindhealer right there. Just, I don’t want to tell the world where you are, when Leareth’s got to be hunting for you all over.” He hesitated for a long time, chewing his lip. “I could send Daloo with another message for the drop – damn it, I wish we could ask for Jisa, but Randi’s never going to agree to that. Maybe we can request Melody. But that’d still take days.”

Vanyel rode out the wave of bitter disappointment, even more painful on the heels of fresh hope. _I can’t do it. I can’t live like this for days._

Stef noticed his reaction. “Van, I’m sorry. I’ll keep thinking.” His eyes narrowed. “If we discreetly snatch Agnetta and keep her here, she can’t tell any–”

“We’re not kidnapping anyone,” Vanyel said tightly. “Anyway, I don’t know that I’d trust her with this.” He felt guilty for maligning her, but he didn’t know her at all. Melody was familiar with his mind, and comfortable with concert-Sight, though he had to take on faith that she could do it with Hyrryl, a nonhuman. Besides, Melody already knew all of his secrets.

Stef’s shoulders sagged. “Fair enough. Gods, Van, maybe we should call it quits and get you back to Haven.”

“No.” Vanyel was surprised by the determination that rose. “Stef, I’m not giving up.” If he went back to Haven, especially if he arrived with his mind trussed up like a winter ham, there was no way in the world Randi would let him ride out again.

“Are you sure?” Concern in Stef’s hazel eyes.

“I’m sure.” He took a steadying breath. “Stef, I have to keep talking to Leareth, and I need the option of meeting him face to face.”

Stef’s eyes went wide. “You can’t be serious. After he did _this_ to you?”

“I’m entirely serious.” He held Stef’s gaze, unflinching. “I’d want precautions in place, but…gods, we have to figure out what really happened, and make it right somehow. I need freedom of action.”

Stef lifted his chin, stubborn, but an minute later, he was the first to look away. “All right. You win. No turning back.” He let his hand drift to Vanyel’s cheek again, tracing the angle of his ear and jaw. “I’ll never understand you, Van- _ashke_. But you’re _mine_.”

Vanyel sighed, relaxing into Stef’s touch. “I love you.”

Stef just nodded. His eyes were thoughtful again. “Hmm. If I weren’t terrified of being caught, I’d go in as Ubran again and send a request through Agnetta. Then at least we’d know it was on the way. I have no idea when or if someone’s going to actually check my mail drop.” A pause. “I probably should send Daloo with that message now, to get it out of the way. But I’ll keep thinking.”

* * *

With a groan, Karis rose, knees creaking.

 _We cannot, must not, make those demands on our gods_ , she had said to Dara, and yet the thought had come to her over and over again as she lay awake in her bed. She was no priestess, but she knew the ritual for a formal petition to Vkandis Sunlord. She had eventually persuaded herself that there was nothing offensive in asking nicely. Still, it had taken her all morning to gather the courage – and to find a time when she could escape her duties unseen.

Her Sunsguard knew where she had gone, of course. Respecting her privacy, they had allowed her to enter the tiny chapel to Vkandis alone, and hadn’t asked any questions.

It was a pleasant room, built the year of their alliance, squeezed in beside the small private chapel dedicated to Kernos. The gold leaf was far less extravagant than it would have been in Sunhame, but somehow, in the mood she was in now, she found its simplicity more comforting than ostentatious decor.

She had gone through the forms, on her knees with a burning taper, and lit the wick in the bowl of consecrated oil. And waited, and prayed.

Nothing.

Karis had expected no different. Who was she to command a reply from her deity? Still, it smarted. No matter how much she knew better, it felt as though she, personally, had failed.

…Shining in through a high window, the light seemed to change.

Karis froze. That shimmer on the altar. Was it just a trick of her eyes? The angle was wrong for the sun’s position–

_My daughter._

Not quite a voice. Nothing like the force of pure light that had filled her after the Battle of Sunhame, making her its vessel in full. This Presence was subtle. Barely there; in fact, she wasn’t sure if it was there at all, or whether she was imagining things.

A litany of ancient prayer rose in her mind. _Vkandis, my Sunlord, bringer of all light…_ For just a moment, she was warm, any hint of chill gone. A sense of peace washed over her. She felt almost weightless.

Then it was gone.

Karis reeled, catching herself against the wall. _What?_

Had she been imagining things after all, or had that momentary Presence been real?

If it had been Vkandis in truth, He had offered no answer to her plea. No reassurance. No promise that all would be well. And yet, she still felt comforted, perhaps only from the indication that, whether or not it could be fulfilled, her request had been heard, and no offence taken at it.

Her Sunlord was there, watching over her. Whatever He could do, He would. Knowing that much was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events are happening quickly right now! 
> 
> Also, I am attempting the final stretch of weaning off my nerve pain medications (it's now almost exactly a year since my above-knee leg amputation for cancer), and the withdrawal causes MISERY. Expect a higher than usual density of bonus chapters for the next while, and I would deeply appreciate commentary as a distraction from my brain's overall trashfireness.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Jisa was ready to collapse into a puddle.

It was past midnight, now, and arguably it wasn’t the right decision for her to still be awake, shivering under her cloak, surrounded by pitch-black forest, several miles from the Waymeet town gates and riding an elderly gelding that wasn’t, exactly, stolen. The Healers had a stable, for animal Healing, and kept a few elderly horses for errands around town. His name was Apple and she was going to bring him back. Definitely.

Somehow, miraculously, the plan had all gone without a hitch. Clara had agreed to the plan, and Alethra, radiating Adept-power like a furnace, had sat them down and cast the two illusions without asking any questions. Jisa was awed. It wasn’t just her face and hair that were different; her body was taller and plumper, and her new broader hips and breasts felt just as real and solid as her normal form. Looking at Clara and seeing _herself_ was equally uncanny.

She had just barely managed to catch the new-scheduled extra Gate at noon, crossing alongside the newest crop of Healing volunteers, rations, weapons, and a company of fifty skirmishers from Lissa’s mercenaries, just here from Sunhame. Among them were three more mages, so they were bumping the Gates to twice a day.

Jisa couldn’t imagine the sheer effort going into weather-working; despite the havoc they were wreaking, the sky was crystalline blue. She couldn’t sense it herself because she had kept her mage-channels clamped shut all day. It made her feel half-blind. Masking her discomfort behind a front of anxious eagerness-to-please, she dived into helping Agnetta.

It was sort of fun, actually, pretending to be a trainee again. With the sudden influx of volunteers but and no actual fighting happening yet, Agnetta had evidently decided to plow through their entire backlog while she still had the chance, and relaxed the requirement for senior trainees to be supervised with first-time patients. ‘Clara’ was assigned a closet-sized room and an incessant stream of priority four patients for the entire afternoon and evening, interrupted only for a brief cold supper with the rest of the team.

Jisa couldn’t remember the last time she had had so mainly straightforward, simple cases in a row. If she had been any less preoccupied, she would have found it intolerably repetitive, but she was grateful that she didn’t have to think too hard, and it was sort of satisfying.

She had forgotten that Jeren had volunteered to go north, and running into him at supper was awkward, but she didn’t think he suspected anything. She hoped he wouldn’t judge ‘Clara’ too hard for her soon-to-come onset of cowardice.

The nag hated riding in the dark. Jisa had wrestled with his stubborn desire to turn around and head right back home until, feeling horribly guilty but not enough to actually stop, she attempted a simple compulsion on him and was mildly surprised when it worked. With that plus the tiny mage-light she dared once she was well outside of town and able to relax her mage-gift, he was happy enough to alternate a walk and a trot. She had briefly coaxed him into a canter, but his gait was incredibly uncomfortable and she gave up in disgust.

The newly paved main road wasn’t bad. She had missed Stef’s turnoff, thanks to the moonless night and fact that the road now ran a half-mile further north than it had when he wrote his description, but it was easy enough to find when she looped back. _Take the trail beside the rock that looks like Doe Run._ A place near k’Treva; back in Haven, Jisa had sketched what she thought they were looking for so that the others could memorize it, and then burned the drawing.

Now she was maybe a quarter-mile down what had once been a farmers’ track, overgrown enough that her horse could barely squeeze through. Damn it, she missed Enara. And Need. And Treven. She felt very, very alone, and deeply irked with Stef for putting his message-drop so far out, even if she understood his reasoning. At this rate she wouldn’t make it back to her bed until close to dawn.

It was her own fault for giving in to impatience. Stef might have left a message with more details on his situation, though, and she wanted to leave her own update, letting him know that help was on the way.

Ahead, a thick of blackberries grew across the trail. Jisa could pick her way around it, she thought, but there was no way her mount could crawl under those bushes to the side. Clearing the area with a mage-blast was tempting, but might attract attention, and would be obvious if anyone came this way later on.

“Sorry, Apple.” She sighed, dismounted, and tied the beast’s reins to a tree, casting a discreet perimeter of low-powered trap-spells. A few paces onward, she turned back, dared adding an underpowered weather-barrier around him, and got out his nosebag of grain. No point being needlessly cruel.

 _I don’t like this at all._ Silly or not, Jisa felt a lot more vulnerable on foot. She wouldn’t have said she was particularly afraid of the dark, of forests, or of being alone, but shoving her way between branches that flung snow into her eyes, daring only a tiny mage-light cupped in her palm, her mind was imagining all sorts of things. Wolves. Bears. Were they close enough to the Pelagirs for Changebears? It was too quiet; the noise she made seemed deafening, surely anyone and anything for miles around could hear her incompetent flailing…

 _Stop it._ It was silly to be afraid of wildlife. She was perfectly capable of defending herself.

Moving on her own feet was actually faster than riding, and within a few minutes the exertion had her toasty-warm. It felt good to stretch her legs. She had been sitting on her bottom all day. _No wonder Melody’s gotten fat._

 _…_ Was that it? The path widened into a meadow, and…yes, that was an oak tree split and hollowed by lightning. Jisa turned to the left of it, and risked sending her mage-light ahead.

That had to be it. A looming, crooked structure; she was amazed it was still standing. The door had long rusted in place, but hung ajar, enough to squeeze through.

 _Ugh, it reeks in here._ Trying to breathe through her mouth, Jisa fed more power into her mage-light and peered around. If she were Stef, where would she hide a message?

Somewhere by the walls, or at least she hoped; the ground was disgusting, a mulch of rotted hay and mud frozen into ridges and humps.

It took her ten minutes, and she was close to giving up, but she eventually found a folded square of paper, the same Collegium supply, stuffed under the crumbling shutters of what had once been a window. No – two pieces of paper.

Both were in code. Not Melody’s cipher; she guessed it was one of Katha’s standard letter-substitution systems. With pen and paper, she ought to be able to figure it out.

It was tempting to just take them back with her and do it in the morning, but every trip back here bore a risk of being seen. The messages were short, and after coming all this way she really ought to reply.

Squatting, Jisa dug out a charcoal-stick and used her knees as a makeshift desk, venturing a tiny heat-spell to keep her hands warm. She was blearier than she had realized; it took half a dozen attempts before it clicked and she recognized the pattern, and then she _still_ had to translate it back one letter at a time. Her eyelids were threatening to stick shut by the time she finished.

 _There_.

The first message was straightforward, though it still took an embarrassingly long time before she realized it was referring to troop-numbers. Not, presumably, Valdemar’s numbers. If she was reading this right, Leareth had thirty thousand men on his side, and three hundred mages or more.

The other note was marked for Randi’s eyes only, and it was…frustrating. _Urgent support needed. Request dean of Mindhealers, travel discreetly await instructions in Waymeet._

That was literally the entire message.

Why did Stef want Melody _,_ of all people? They had jokingly suggested her as a candidate for a rescue mission, based on her knowledge of Leareth, but that wasn’t an actual justification.

Did he want her around because he had a plan to get Vanyel out, but wasn’t sure what kind of shape he would be in after they succeeded? Melody was the person best-suited to help Van deal with the aftermath of being Leareth’s prisoner – better suited than her, Jisa had to admit – but hardly for the rescue itself, and asking for her in advance was more speculative than she would expect out of Stef. Especially _only_ asking for that.

What if Stef had a rescue plot that itself required Mindhealing? If his _kyree_ friends had captured one of Leareth’s agents, and wanted to send them back in with a ‘compulsion’ that couldn’t be detected by mage-sight… Or, hmm, maybe Stef wanted Melody to do something to _him_ so that he could get in undetected. Or something even twistier that Jisa hadn’t thought of yet. Whatever it was, Stef wouldn’t want to commit his plan to paper, which explained the message being so short and unhelpful.

Well, whatever Melody could do with her Gift to help Stef with a rescue attempt, Jisa could probably do it better. She ought to leave a response indicating that help was on its way as soon as she could extract herself from Agnetta’s clutches…

_Oh._

She hadn’t even considered the possibility, because she was an idiot, but…what if her original reasoning had been right? What if Stef _did_ want Melody to help Van, but it wasn’t speculative, because–

_They already got him out._

It seemed preposterous, but so was everything about the last three weeks.

If they had Van, why hadn’t he brought him back to Valdemar immediately? Or at least _told_ someone? 

The answer came to her in seconds: he might be safer under the protection of the _kyree_ than anywhere else, and she could understand perfectly why it was news Stef wouldn’t want to put in a letter that might pass through the hands of Leareth’s spies.

_I have to know._

Probably she was wrong, and it was some other need, but her whole body hummed with anticipation. There was no way she could wait through pretending to be Clara for another two or three days.

‘Clara’ would have to…run away, Jisa decided, with a note of mental apology at ruining her reputation even more thoroughly. She would buy her friend a nice present when she made it home.

Could she avoid going back to town at all? It was a long, miserable ride, and then she would still have to make it _back_ again. Plus, she had no idea how to contact Stef, other than lurking in the barn until one of his ‘friends’ turned up looking for letters. And hoping they didn’t rip her throat out.

She hadn’t left anything important at the Healers’ compound, just her extra trainee uniforms and a few books. Enara would arrive sooner or later with the rest of her things. Still, she ought to leave some kind of note, to minimize suspicion and avoid their wasting time and hands searching for her.

If she left a note, she wouldn’t have to face Agnetta in person. Jisa felt sheepish enough to prefer that option. And there were ways she could leave a note without having to go there herself. Ways that wouldn’t leave magical traces.

She was going to end up stealing the horse after all. Which she felt guilty about, but not enough to delay.

A candlemark later, Jisa was back where she had tied Apple, seated cross-legged inside a magical circle. Her shoulder-pack held her purse, writing supplies, and snacks, all of which she was grateful for now. Damn it, though, she wished she had brought chava.

The little knot of _khamsin_ in front of her eagerly devoured the cloth bag of nuts and dried fruit she had offered them. Including the cloth. They weren’t her _khamsin;_ even the Elemental Planes had space and distance, and she was a long way from home; but it seemed her reputation proceeded her, and she hadn’t waited long for an answer to her summoning.

“Rak’sha,” she said, when they had finished and were watching her expectantly. _I need help._

They bounced, jewel-bright eyes fixed on her.

Jisa took her time explaining the plan; it was more complicated than anything she had asked of them before. It relied on the fact that, though their view of the material plane was limited, the _khamsin_ could closely trace the movement of living things, just as sylphs, or air-elementals, could perceive thinking minds, and water-elementals had an excellent sense of the weather.

 _Retrace the steps of this horse_ , she had told them. _When you reach the place where it came from, leave this message. Make sure you are not seen._ She had scribbled out an apologetic note, laden with what she judged to be the right amount of teenage hysteria for ‘running away in the middle of the night’, and shoved some silver coins in with it, more than enough to cover the cost of the beast.

After she had gone through it, and made them repeat it back just in case, she offered them her second snack, a stick of meat wrapped in paper, and the message, along with profuse thanks.

And they were gone.

There – that hadn’t been too hard. She had energy to spare, and she still had the circle. Might as well put out feelers for information.

* * *

Stef watched the steady rise and fall of Vanyel’s chest. Asleep, he looked comfortable. Peaceful, though his features were marred by two spectacular, matching black eyes and a nasty bruise on his cheek. Which, if his memory was trustworthy, wasn’t even Leareth’s fault – damn it, Stef wanted to find whichever idiot had dropped Van on his head while ‘rescuing’ him, and push them down a flight of stairs.

_:Singer:_

Stef hadn’t even heard the _kyree_ approaching. His head spun around, yanked by the urgency in Aroon’s mindvoice. “What is it?” He remembered to keep his voice to a low whisper.

 _:You ought come outside. Now. It appears one of your people has come looking for you:_ A pause. : _I hope she is yours. She speaks in the Valdemaran tongue:_

“What?” Stef scrambled up, as quietly as he could, and padded to the mouth of the side-cave, with a reluctant backward glance at Van. “Who?”

_:A woman with red hair. She will not tell us her name, only that she wishes to speak to you:_

…It had to be Melody, but _how_? It shouldn’t have been possible for her to get here so quickly, less than twelve candlemarks after he left the message. Besides, he had instructed her to wait in Waymeet, rather than risking being followed and giving their location away.

“How did she find us?” Stef said, once they were far enough that he dared a normal conversational volume. “Or did you find her?”

 _:A mix of both. In the night, the air-spirits of the region sought Hyrryl’s attention, and she sent me to check your barn:_ Aroon’s yellow eyes were on him, piercing. _:I found her waiting there. Sleeping, to be precise:_

Had someone put two and two together and realized that his not-very-informative request meant he had Van back? Surely only that would have been urgent enough for someone to Gate Melody to them in the middle of the goddamned night.

Daylight encroached as they neared the cave-entrance, the temperature dropping. Stef shivered, but decided against turning back for his cloak. He wasn’t even wearing his boots, just a pair of soft slippers he had sewed using Van’s saddle-repair materials and his copious free time and boredom-fuelled restless energy.

At the mouth he several slow, deep breaths, steadying himself. Aroon, noticing his nerves, brushed up against his hip.

He stepped out into the icy dawn.

The very young woman facing him, standing next to Aroon’s sled with her cheeks red from the wind, definitely wasn’t Melody, though she had the same red hair and sturdy frame. She looked familiar. Right, Melody’s granddaughter was a Mindhealer as well.

“…Clara?” Stef said blankly. “Why did they send _you_?” She was, as far as he knew, still a trainee. Had Randi decided Melody was too important, and fobbed off her granddaughter on him instead?

“I’m not Clara,” the girl said, in Clara’s voice.

“What?”

She stepped closer – and something brushed his mind. _:Stef, it’s me:_

Stef nearly fell over. “Jisa?”

Her eyes flicked around. _:Shh, can’t you–:_

“Jisa, we can trust them. And no one’s listening in. Hyrryl has this whole area cloaked.” Stef shot a disbelieving glance back at Aroon, then returned to Clara, no, Jisa’s face. “What have you done to yourself? An illusion?”

She nodded, smug – it was weird, seeing that characteristic Jisa expression on someone else’s face. “We swapped places,” she said out loud. “No one but a few of the Senior Circle know I’ve even left Haven.”

“Why in all hells did they send _you_?” Stef seized her arm, tugging her toward the cave. “Come on. It’s freezing out.”

“Because I’ve got the best chance of actually being able to help you,” Jisa said, her smile fading. “Papa banned me from actually going looking for Father, I’m just supposed to help you scheme. But,” her eyes narrowed, “given your message, I’m starting to wonder if that’s moot.” She licked her lips, clearly steeling herself for _something_. “Do you have Van?”

Stef nodded, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself as he watched her face light up, relief changing her entire posture.

Then the implication caught up. “Wait. How do _you_ not know that?”

A blank look. “How would I? Your note was extremely cryptic.”

 _Oh, no_. Stef found himself frozen in mid-step, tugging at his hair with both hands. “Jisa. I was assuming – damn it, if it wasn’t our side who rescued him, who the hell _was_ it?”

Jisa blinked rapidly a few times. “What do you mean? It wasn’t your _kyree_?”

“No! That’s what I’m telling you!”

“Doesn’t Van–”

“Van has no idea either.” Suddenly unsteady, Stef leaned against the flowing curve of stone. “I didn’t think Leareth was pulling a trick on us, but…if it wasn’t us…”

Jisa caught at his shoulder. “Stef. Hey. Take a deep breath. Stop panicking.”

She must have been pushing with her Empathy as well; he felt his racing heart slow, his breathing settling. He couldn’t bring himself to mind her not asking first.

“I don’t know either,” she said, “but I can’t see how Leareth could’ve found out. Your message wasn’t opened before I got it, I checked, and no one else should’ve been able to read Melody’s cipher – good idea, by the way. I only told people I trust.” 

“Who?” Stef demanded.

“Treven, Dara, and Brightstar. And my parents. We only talked about it behind shields.” She joined him against the wall. “Stef, I don’t know either, but right now the only thing that matters is that he’s safe.” Incredulous joy. “I can’t believe it! This is incredible. Guess it explains why your message was so mysterious, if you assumed we already knew.”

Stef managed a shaky smile. “Sorry.” His mind still spun in random circles, but relief was conquering the confusion. “Jisa, gods, I’m _so_ glad to see you, you have no idea…”

She shot him a dark look. “You could’ve asked for me, you know. I’m kind of insulted.” Then her gaze dropped. “Sorry, that was petty. I get why Van would prefer Melody.” A pause. She bit her lip, not quite looking at him. “Stef… How is he? Be honest with me.”

“Not great,” Stef confessed. “I’m really glad you’re here.” Vanyel wasn’t going to believe it; Stef couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. “How did you get here so fast?”

“Well, there’s the mage in Waymeet, and…” She trailed off. “Oh. I didn’t come because of the note you left – I found both messages when I got here. I left because of your first message. I was meant to pretend to be Clara for a few more days while Enara and Need catch up, but when it said you needed Melody urgently…” She grimaced. “I made Clara look like an awful person. I, um, stole a horse. Which isn’t even helpful, it was too far to ride here so he’s still at the stupid barn.” 

Stef choked on an entirely inappropriate guffaw. “You stole a – wait, _Need?”_

Jisa bobbed her head, smirking again. “She’s been getting a tug for days. Once we got your message, we figured it might be for Yfandes, or even Van directly, he’s not a woman but she told me she sometimes helps _shaych_ men. Anyway, Enara’s got her and she’s coming north overland. I couldn’t exactly have a Companion and a magic sword come through the Gate with me when I was supposed to be Clara.”

The other implication finally hit. Stef raised his eyebrows. “So a random trainee is pretending to be _you_. Does she have to…Treven…?”

“Yes, she has to pretend to be married to Treven–”

“Married?” Stef’s voice rose to a squeak. “You got married? When?”

Jisa’s eyes went unfocused as she counted on her fingers. “…Four days ago?” A fresh smile lit her face. No, an outright grin. “I’m married!”

“I can see we’ve got a lot of catching up to do!” Stef hadn’t even explained the important bits, yet, there was so much context and he kept getting dragged off track, giddy and off-balance.

“We do.” Jisa’s smile was gone, replaced by concern, and she seemed to brace herself. “Stef. Can we talk about Van? I…should get my head around what I’m dealing with, here.”

“Right.” He straightened up from the wall. “His Gifts are blocked, and he can’t really move. Some sort of comprehensive spell-binding, only we think it’s based on Mindhealing techniques, and then Leareth had a Mindhealer who played around with it, so it’s stuck, Hyrryl couldn’t break it safely…”

Jisa’s face was a fascinating study in horror warring with curiosity. “His Gifts are blocked? _All_ of them?”

“Except for a tiny bit of Thoughtsensing,” Stef clarified. “That was one of the changes the Mindhealer made.”

He wasn’t sure Jisa had heard him. The shock was shifting to anger, and under it, fear. “You’re telling me they had him totally defenceless.” Her jaw worked. “Stef, how bad is it? What did Leareth do to him?”

 _Oh._ She was labouring under the same misapprehension that he had been. “Jisa, he didn’t – it was basically just that. Leareth was being paranoid and didn’t want him to be able to escape or attack, but Van’s insisting he was otherwise treated well and Leareth just wanted to talk to him.” He looked down at his hands. “He keeps insisting he’s fine and not upset about it. I don’t really believe it. Doesn’t help that whoever rescued him managed to rough him up worse than Leareth did.”

Jisa’s mix of relief and doubt was replaced by a scowl.

“Don’t think it was on purpose!” Stef added quickly. “Van doesn’t remember most of it, but he thinks they were rushing and dropped him. He was covered in bruises.”

“…Sounds incompetent.” Jisa was frowning. “But anyone who could get him out at all _had_ to be good.” Her breath hissed out. “Stef, I still can’t think who could’ve done it. We’d sort of figured out where he was with a tracking spell, but only to within a fifty-mile circle, and it was way on the other side of the mountains.”

 _What? How?_ Not the time to press her. Stef rubbed his eyes. “Could it have been something Treven planned without telling you?”

“No.” Iron certainty. “He tells me everything.”

Stef didn’t feel like arguing. He had higher priorities. “Jisa. Before our mystery benefactor broke Van out of there, he talked to Leareth. Put him a first-stage Truth Spell, he had enough Mindspeech for that, and…” It was difficult to push out the words that Stef himself still half couldn’t believe.

“And what?” Jisa reached out, taking his hand. “Stef, it’s all right. Tell me.”

He closed his eyes. “Leareth says he didn’t do it. Any of it. He doesn’t want to go to war. Jisa, he said it under Truth Spell.”

Stef heard the quiet puff of air leaving her chest. Her fingers tightened on his. “Oh,” she breathed, finally. “That…changes things.”

Stef lifted his head. “We’re still talking through whether he could’ve tricked the _vrondi_.”

“Not impossible, if he’s got a Mindhealer.” Distant, speculative. “With enough skill, Mindhealers could theoretically give someone a false identity that stands up to a Thoughtsenser reading surface thoughts. Maybe also pass a Truth Spell. So it might’ve been a body-double he sent in. It’s not proof.”

Jisa had covered more ground in thirty seconds than the two of them had in candlemarks. “Right,” Stef said dully.

“It’s not proof,” she repeated, reaching to take his other hand as well. “But it is information.”

Stef didn’t need his Bardic sensitivity to read the light in her eyes. It was the same feeling echoed deep in his gut. Hope.

He ducked his head. “We should go wake Van.”

* * *

Even with Shavri deep in trance beside him, painblocking at full strength, Randi hurt. The ache in his chest was more emotional than physical. Beyond her reach.

He couldn’t muster the energy to greet his King’s Own courteously, or even to smile. “Talk to me.”

Dara showed no offense. “Went back to the Moonpaths this morning, talked to the shaman. They’re coming. Pretty much every clan is sending some people, and they’re already on the way.”

She said it tonelessly, with no particular excitement. Randi felt a pang. He missed her enthusiasm, even if he couldn’t work up any of his own.

“Plan is to Gate them from White Winds,” Dara went on. “Brightstar did a session with the Adepts, says that they’re almost ready for long-distance concert Gating. So we’re going to send some volunteers back, might as well have them there sooner rather than later. Oh, and another group will peel off and travel to Petras, to be ready when Lythiaren’s army is.”

“Which is when?” Randi said dully.

“We had contact yesterday, and they’ll probably have enough assembled to be worth Gating in one week. Given that we’ve already got Gates to and from Waymeet happening every day, I figured that once we pick the volunteers, I’ll send them to spend an afternoon over there, familiarize themselves with the temple that we’re using for a terminus. Range isn’t as much of an issue for a group of Adepts casting in concert, and they’ve learned Savil’s directed version. We can get both groups all the way north in one hop, make up for the other delays.”

“And Sunhame?”

Dara bobbed her head. “We’re bringing them across at about a thousand a day, that’s all we can quarter in Haven. Honestly, I’m tempted to send the cavalry riding up the Trade Road, rather than trying to Gate them.”

Randi lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “Dara, does it make sense to build a permanent terminus up north? I know it’s a major undertaking and we don’t have Van or Savil’s expertise, but we do still have Brightstar. Surely he can train up some of the White Winds folk to help him.”

Dara frowned. “Randi, it took a full week the last time, and that was with Savil leading. That’s a big investment.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one. If we get started now, we might be very glad of it in a fortnight.”

“Hmm. I’ll think about it. There’s also the security issue – er, higher chance Leareth’s army could try to capture it.” She lifted her slate, chalk scratching. “Moving on. Nothing on Iftel. The secrecy’s held, though, even the Council doesn’t know they’re coming. So we hope Leareth doesn’t either.”

“Right.” Randi pushed a breath in and out through his nose. “Jisa.”

“Nothing.” A pause. “Er, Melody did receive a message from Agnetta. A very irritated note about how her granddaughter snuck off with one of the Healers’ horses. It sounds like Jisa, er, got impatient, and didn’t wait for Enara.” A sigh. “I really, really hope this doesn’t make anyone suspicious. Or end up with her in danger because she’s out there without her Companion or Need.”

Randi should have been annoyed with his daughter, probably, but he couldn’t find it in him. _I can’t blame her for being impatient._ He was afraid for her, but even that was distant, muffled behind sheer fatigue.

“No one’s suspicious about Clara?” he said quietly.

“Not that I know of.”

That was something. Not enough, never enough, but something.

“Anything else?”

“…Karis wanted to speak with you. After we’re done here.”

“Give me a minute.”

Randi closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and was silent for a minute.

“Dara,” he said finally. “I’ve got this feeling…” Nebulous, hard to pin down. “Like we’re still confused. Not asking the right questions. Getting mired in details and not remembering to step back. Tunnel vision.”

Silence.

“We are, a bit,” Dara acknowledged finally. “When you mentioned the Gate, I realized… It sort of doesn’t feel like the future exists past tomorrow.”

“It’s a mistake.” Randi was sure of it now. “Dara, we’re still just reacting to an emergency. Not trying to get ahead.” Which felt impossible to do. He was so goddamned tired.

Quiet sympathy. “I know what you mean.”

“We’re not being curious.” The thought had risen sometime last night. “Dara, it’s been three weeks, and…nothing. No attack. No sign of his goddamned army. Doesn’t make _sense_. I, just…”

“What if it’s all a mistake.” The words seemed to fall with a thud between them. “I don’t – Randi, he kidnapped Van. Why in all hells would be do it if he didn’t want to start a war?”

“I don’t know.” The contradiction he had been staring into, brought to the surface. “Van’s still alive, though. What if Leareth just wanted to talk to him?”

“It’s been almost a week. Leareth could’ve gotten a message out, if he wanted us to know his intent.”

“I know.” Damn it, it hurt to think about. Like double vision, dizzying. The world where Leareth was straightforwardly an enemy, and the world where he was…something far more complicated. Every part of him wanted to collapse it down to one of those options, so that he could finally be sure of something again.

But that certainty was a lie.

“Should I send Karis in?” Dara said softly.

Randi turned his head, looking at Shavri – head bowed, she didn’t seem to be tracking the conversation at all. “Guess I might as well get it over with.”

“If you’re too tired–”

 _I’ve been too tired since the very start._ “I can manage.”

Dara nodded. Reached out, paused for a moment with her hand in midair, then rested it briefly on Randi’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

 _For what,_ he thought, dully, but said nothing.

And then, less than a minute later, Karis was there. She moved with her usual dignity, spine erect, her gold-embroidered cloak and headpiece immaculate. Shadows under her eyes – like everyone, it seemed, though Dara swore she was getting the Heralds to bed at reasonable hours. Maybe it was the stress; maybe the others, like him, found themselves lying awake after midnight, confused and afraid.

“News?” Randi asked.

“No more than what Dara already shared.” She settled herself into the chair at his bedside. Reached for his hand. “I simply wished to see you. You are my husband, after all.” A brief, crooked smile. “How are you managing?”

“Fine.”

Karis lifted her chin. “I do not believe you.”

“…I want this to be _over_.” Randi squeezed her hand. “Could really use a miracle from your god, right about now.”

He said it lightly, mostly in jest. _I’m not sure I would care for any more miracles, actually._

“I confess that I prayed for one.” Karis’ eyes were downcast, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think…that not even my Sunlord can make promises as to the outcomes, right now. But the gods work through mortals. I knew this but did not really understand it until…”

She trailed off, staring into the distance, jaw working.

“Do not lose hope,” she said finally, tight, choked. “Do not give up. And – I _can_ make some promises, and I swear to you that I and my people will be at your side.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_:This spell is incredible!:_ Jisa’s mindvoice was a breath on the wind. _:I never imagined… Father, who is she? The Mindhealer who did this. She’s a genius!:_

 _:She’s from an empire west of the Pelagirs:_ Vanyel answered. It felt wonderful, being able to Mindspeak freely again. Jisa had fixed his Thoughtsensing first; the fact that it was partly open meant she could widen that further without too much difficulty, and it was easier for her to poke around his head if he could hold his end of a link and stay in rapport with her. _:I suspect she’s a mage too:_ he added, _:but I couldn’t exactly check:_

At least Jisa’s mindvoice sounded like her. Talking to his daughter when her face and voice were Clara’s was uncanny.

 _:It would make sense. The whole thing is a seamless blend of magic and Mindhealing:_ Awe in the overtones.

Vanyel suppressed a wave of irritation. _:Jisa, please. Can you stop gushing about her and focus on fixing it?:_ At any other time, her fascination would have been endearing, but right now it grated.

 _:Sorry:_ He felt her presence in his head receding, taking a step back. _:I’ve got the shape of it now. Hmm. I think the best way to do this is actually to put back the parts Hyrryl cut through, and then undo all the Mindhealing modifications before we deal with the purely magical aspect. I’m worried that if I leave the spell in pieces and take down the Mindhealing bits, it’s going to end up unstable and backlash on you when it comes down:_

Vanyel sighed. _:And you want to see it intact, don’t you?:_

 _:…Maybe:_ A hint of self-consciousness, but no guilt. _:I want to know what he’s capable of. And we could use it on his people if I can figure it out:_

 _:Fine:_ He wasn’t exactly happy about going back under the full binding, even temporarily, but he trusted Jisa. _:Just don’t dawdle, please:_

 _:I won’t:_ A wash of reassurance. _:Van, can I use my Empathy to help you stay calm? I don’t want you flailing around when I’m poking at your mind. Oh, and I might put you under for some of the fiddly parts:_

 _:I guess so:_ He had practiced staying calm under the spell for days. _I can do this._

Gods, he missed Yfandes. And Savil, but that was less productive to dwell on, and he acknowledged the swell of grief before steering away.

 _:Ready?:_ Jisa sent.

_:Ready:_

His Thoughtsensing was the first to go, along with his sense of Stef and the place where his bond with Yfandes lived, as a smooth impenetrable wall slid back into place; he could have resisted, even struck at her with his mind, but he didn’t.

Then his sense of balance was cut off, replaced by the too-familiar sense that he was falling in an endless void. He was glad his eyes were already closed.

 _:Stay calm:_ Right – Jisa was a strong enough Mindspeaker to force through a channel even with his Mind-Gifts blocked. _:I’m going to start releasing the spots where she moved it:_

Vanyel tried, desperately, to relax into it, as the space in his mind that belonged to him shrank, replaced by walls that hemmed him in, the lingering pain in his head echoing in a hissing roar and streaks of colour – but when he lost even the sense of his face, like he was dissolving into a formless sea, the terror rose. _I can’t I can’t I can’t–_

**:Sleep:**

–And he was back. Boxed away in a tiny corner, a prison inside his head.

Instinctively, Vanyel flung himself at the smooth, perfect barrier, struggling with all his strength, _no no no no no–_

 _:Father:_ He didn’t know how the mindvoice was even reaching him. _:Please calm down:_

He clung to that one anchor. This time was different. He wasn’t a prisoner, anymore, and he wasn’t alone. He was among friends. Safe. Stef was there, even if he couldn’t feel him at all.

 _:I’m going to cut through part of it:_ Jisa explained. _:Then you can break it from the inside, and hopefully it’ll collapse outward rather than onto you:_

What if it didn’t?

 _:The worst that happens at this point is it gives you backlash:_ Jisa answered. _:Father, you can do this. Ready?:_

As ready as he was ever going to be.

– And a segment of the cage was gone. Vanyel threw the force of his will at that new flaw, clawing at the walls, feeling them crumble, his body and senses and power flowing back into his grasp –

**:STOP!:**

…He found himself standing, frozen in midstep, both hands raised. Clara – no, not Clara,Jisa – stood in front of him, both hands flung up around an instinctive shield, and Hyrryl was at her side, poised to leap, lips pulled back from a terrifying set of teeth.

Lightning crackled at his fingertips. Had he been about to blast her on pure instinct? He couldn’t tell; his entire mind had gone into lockdown.

 _:Sorry!:_ Jisa’s mindvoice was normal again. _:I’ll undo that, just a moment:_

Vanyel remembered how to move, and immediately sagged to his knees.

 _:Hey. Breathe:_ Jisa grabbed his shoulders, holding him steady. _:Center and ground. That’s it:_

As his racing pulse slowed in time with her soothing voice, the rest of it crashed into him. He had a body again, and, gods, he felt _awful_. Dizzy, sore all over, his head throbbing, and his guts one solid cramp. His entire midsection felt unpleasantly full, bloated, like there wasn’t enough space for his insides; the few bites of oat-gruel he had forced down at Stef’s insistence weren’t going anywhere, just sitting in an uneasy lump below his breastbone.

“Van?” Stef’s hands were there as well, cupping his face. “Are you with us?”

“Hnng,” Vanyel managed, eloquently.

“What’s the matter?”

“Feel like hell.” He tried to belch, hoping it would help with the unpleasant sense of pressure. It didn’t. “Ugh. I don’t – it’s like my guts are going to burst.”

“What do you mean?”

Vanyel was finally starting to recognize the feeling. “I think…maybe I haven’t moved my bowels in ages. Possibly since I was captured.” Which would make it six days; based on how he felt right now, he could believe it. He brought a hand to his belly. “Gah. This is so uncomfortable.” Of all the stupid, ridiculous, embarrassing problems. “Stef, stop, please. Don’t touch me. I feel disgusting.”

“Sorry.” Stef released him, backing away. “Rrah, why didn’t you notice this?”

Vanyel hadn’t realized the _kyree_ Healer was in the room as well. _:I am sorry:_ she sent, ears flattening back with embarrassment. _:Your digestion works differently from ours. I was not sure what was normal:_

“Mother says people get blocked up when they’re bedridden and not eating much,” Jisa offered helpfully. “Stef, were you giving him painkillers too?”

“A few doses of poppy-syrup from our kit,” Stef confessed. “I needed to sleep sometimes.”

“That’ll do it.” Jisa shot him a sympathetic look. “It happened to me as well when I was ill, before k’Treva. I’m sorry, it’s really not a nice feeling.”

No wonder he hadn’t been able to get comfortable, before. “I need to…go deal with this,” he said faintly. 

* * *

Resting her chin between her hands, Melody looked into the young man’s face. “Brightstar. Talk to me.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes; he was huddled up in his hammock, arms wrapped around his knees, staring fixedly at the wall.

Melody glanced over at his sister, perched on a cushion and watching anxiously. “Would you like it if Featherfire stepped out to give us some privacy?”

Brightstar shook his head.

“Mmm. Brightstar, can you tell me what’s hurting right now?” Melody had seen him three days ago, and he had seemed…well, no, not fine, but he had been in control of it. She knew he had been back in the House of Healing for backlash the day before, but Gemma hadn’t asked her to see him, so she hadn’t. There were too many other urgent priorities.

Featherfire had summoned her a few minutes ago, though, sounding worried enough that Melody had dropped everything else she was doing and come straight here.

“Mindspeech is all right,” she added, “but you’ll have to let me through your shields.” He was blocking her; she couldn’t even get a good look at the shape of his mind.

Finally, Brightstar looked at her. _:I cannot bear that he still lives:_

 _:Leareth?:_ She kept the worry out of her mindvoice as well as she could. His shields were lowered against her Sight, now, but his mind was closed-off, thorns hiding whatever urgency was driving him. Melody didn’t like it at all.

 _:He is a monster. A scourge on the world:_ Brightstar’s hands curled into fists. _:I wish him to die screaming – I wish to destroy him with my own hands – and I cannot. I am no good to anybody:_ Rage, bitterness, shame.

Melody swallowed her sigh. So they were at that stage. She slid her stool a few inches closer. _:Brightstar, hey. Listen to me. For one, it’s possible it wasn’t Leareth at all:_

 _:You cannot believe that!:_ The words burst out of him. _:It was him. There is no other:_

 _:Probably, yes. Just, we aren’t actually sure:_ She sat up, tugging her sleeve straight. _:And I know you’re worried about your father. I’m pretty damned worried about Van too. But he chose to go. He took that danger on willingly:_

He can look out for himself, she had been about to say, but she was worried. Jisa’s cagey response to the mysterious message… Melody had tried very hard not to speculate, it was need-to-know and she didn’t, and yet.

She wasn’t stupid. The note had almost certainly originated with Stef.

And then Jisa had disappeared to some unknown destination, wearing her granddaughter’s face – and wherever she’d gone, Melody was certain it wasn’t a safehouse outside the city.

Something was wrong.

From the way Brightstar’s face spasmed, he knew the truth, whatever it was. _:He has need of me. I cannot go to him – I have failed – I could not save my home and I cannot save my father – I cannot avenge my da and pa – my sister is alone – I am worthless, there is nothing–:_

She cut him off with a sharp mental slap. _:Brightstar, stop it. Think about the trees:_

He blocked her, shoving away her Mindtouch hard enough to leave her head ringing. “No! I will not!” Surging out of the hammock, his face twisting. “The trees are not there! They are burned to ash!”

Power crackled at his fingertips. Melody forced herself to stay seated, keeping her expression controlled. He wasn’t actually going to strike at her, she was confident of that, but it still wasn’t her preference to be facing down a furious mage. It would have been awfully good to have Jisa’s Projective Empathy right about now…

“Brightstar.” She met his gaze, levelly. “I know. It’s awful and nothing makes it all right. But it’s the way the world is; it’s what we have to work with. I’m sorry, truly.”

Brightstar glared at her for endless seconds, then finally dropped his eyes, his entire posture drooping. “I cannot…” He broke off, a sob choking his voice. _:I cannot ever go home:_

_:I know. You lost everything. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up. Brightstar, it’s not going to be easy, but things will get better. Someday you can build another home:_

_:No:_ The heat was gone, leaving nothing but despair. _:Never:_

Melody took a deep breath. _Be careful._ She didn’t like the anger, but the explosion had revealed a little more of his mind, the structure behind those thorny walls. Rage was the only pillar holding him together, right now; there was nothing under it, and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally push him into deciding there was no point to staying alive.

Choose her words carefully. _:It’s not over:_ she sent. _:Your father is still alive. If you focus on taking care of yourself, you can be ready when we have to call on you. You’ll have your chance to help:_

* * *

Sitting with a fur draped over his shoulders and a second one wrapped around his waist, a bowl of meat-stew in his hands, Van glanced between Stef and Jisa. “We need a plan.”

It was evening, and Jisa was relieved to note that Vanyel looked worlds better. Still with both eyes blackened, and he moved stiffly, but he was otherwise his usual self. After spending a stupidly long time in the side-room Stef had been using as a privy, and then soaking off the layer of grime and properly washing his hair in one of the hot springs, he had finally consented to let Jisa hug him.

He was really there. Alive and sort-of-well, solid and real, sitting right in front of her with that familiar thinking look. Jisa had been giving him space, even though she so badly wanted to throw her arms around him and never let go.

He kept deflecting her attempts to prod him on how he felt about the entire kidnapping, and for the moment, he didn’t seem upset, just tense. Jisa suspected that a deeper pain lurked behind that mask, but she hadn’t pressed.

The _kyree_ were giving them privacy. Aroon had asked Stef – not Van, which was interesting – if he wanted them there, and Stef had shared a meaningful look with his lifebonded and then politely declined.

Vanyel’s eyebrows rose. “Come on, help me out.”

“Right.” Jisa wrested down a yawn. She had gotten maybe three candlemarks of sleep last night, but she could last a bit longer. “Start with what we know. One. Leareth claims the two plots weren’t him. Two, he’s…sort of acting in line with that. I mean, it’s been three weeks and he hasn’t marched on us even though we’re really obviously escalating, and he sent the message, that’s–”

“What message?” Stef interrupted.

“Oh.” She was an idiot; she had forgotten he wouldn’t know. “It arrived about a week ago, with one of his birds, the… _nalaar,_ is that what they’re called? He said it wasn’t him, and he wanted to open talks with us, and in the meantime he promised not to attack us. Oh, and he straight-up gave us the key to decipher his code, the one from the Temple of Astera and all those old books. Plus a different communication spell, that doesn’t need the two mages to know each other – you can aim it on a bearing, and the two ends of it are just relays, so the mage’s actual location can’t easily be detected.”

Silence.

“Interesting.” Vanyel’s voice was distant, abstracted. “Did his messenger-bird wait for a reply?”

“No, but he marked a place where we can leave messages to him. We, um, hadn’t actually used it when I left. Tran thought it was a bad idea and everyone else was being indecisive.” At his questioning look: “Obviously I brought a copy of the map. I’m not an idiot. Only, Enara has it, and she won’t catch up for a few more days. I didn’t memorize it, sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I did mark in the range Brightstar and I got from the tracking-spell. If we wanted to go find Leareth.”

Vanyel’s eyes narrowed. “What tracking-spell, exactly?”

“The one from White Winds, only we modified it to route through the Void–” She ducked away from her father’s impressed look. “Well, Brightstar did,” honestly compelled her to add.

His eyebrows vanished into his hairline. “What about the focus? Jisa, did you secretly take some of my blood before I left?”

Jisa grinned despite herself. “No, we used Arven’s blood. Treven thought it might still have traces of your life-force, and he was right.”

“…The boy’s a genius.” Vanyel’s incredulous smile warmed her through. “It worked?”

“Sort of. The final stage of it failed, it’s supposed to link up with itself to confirm the location, and it couldn’t, presumably there were shields blocking it. But we were able to narrow it down within fifty miles or so.”

“Amazing.” He reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Jisa, pet, I’m so proud of you.” Then his smile faded. “How did Brightstar take it? Learning that I was a prisoner.”

“…I’m not sure,” Jisa admitted. “He kept it to himself, I guess, and I was distracted.”

“How is he holding up in general?” Vanyel winced. “I hate that I had to leave him.”

“Better,” Jisa said. “I think he was upset about me leaving as well, though.” She squared her shoulders. “I promised him I would come home again. I _have_ to. Treven…”

“I know.” Sympathy in Vanyel’s eyes. “You feel guilty about putting yourself in danger, but you came anyway.”

“I had to.” She lifted her chin. “You needed me.” She still wanted to cry, imagining him spellbound for days, helpless and afraid.

Vanyel gripped her shoulder again before letting go. “We’re getting off track. It seems like you’ve got more evidence that points at Leareth not being the culprit, here. Plus the Truth Spell… Jisa, I trust your judgement on this better than my own. What are the chances he could have evaded it?”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. “There are two ways I can think of that he could’ve fooled you. One, if he sent in a double, but he would’ve needed someone already on hand, who looked and moved and talked exactly like him. Who _thought_ like him, because you’d have noticed if he seemed off. Given how a Truth Spell works, they would’ve basically had to believe they _were_ him in order to be able to say all the things he did. I thought about it, and a Mindhealer could maybe bend someone’s mind into believing that they were Leareth, enough to fool it, but I wouldn’t bet on that, I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to do it myself, and even that might not’ve passed muster through an entire conversation with you. You know him really well.”

She waited for Vanyel’s nod. “Two, if his Mindhealer is skilled enough – and based on the spell she put on you, she’s brilliant – then _maybe_ she could have modified the real Leareth’s mind directly, and temporarily blocked specific memories. He’d have to be willing to have his entire mind twisted in a knot. Including for the earlier conversation, because you said you weren’t waiting very long, and it would take _days_ to do something that major. I would’ve thought it’d be noticeable. And it’d be a _lot_ harder to block something that wasn’t a specific memory, like, say, his general intent toward you or Valdemar.”

Vanyel’s chin dipped in acknowledgement. “If he knew he was speaking to me and wanted to lie, I think it’d be a high priority for him, to prepare for it.”

“I know. Still…” What was the relative likelihood? “If he was telling the truth, he was guaranteed to pass it. If not, we need to ask how likely is it that he set up for that contingency, _and_ succeeded with no slips… I don’t think it’s even odds. I’d call it one in…five? Maybe?”

Vanyel was nodding encouragingly. “So however likely we thought it was before that Leareth didn’t instigate, we should think it’s _more_ likely now.”

“Five times more? …I need paper.” Jisa twisted around and dug in her shoulder-bag. “That thing where you make up numbers and draw boxes. Van, if you had to put a number on how likely you thought it was that Leareth didn’t do this, _before_ you left to come north…?”

“Hmm. Maybe one in–” He broke off. “No, that’s wrong. Any number I put on it is giving it more certainty than I have in any direction, and we mustn’t let that be a blinder, I have to remember that _I don’t know._ But I could come up with a range. And we should all think about it separately first.”

Van, as usual, was two steps ahead of her. “All right.” Jisa closed her eyes. _What are the odds?_

“I want to say I thought one in ten odds it wasn’t him,” Vanyel said, a long time later. “But I think I was actually less hopeful than that, and it’s just hard to remember now that I already have the new information. So…somewhere between one in ten, and one in a hundred.”

Jisa balanced her pot of ink on the rippled stone floor, using her folded knees as a makeshift table. “Right. Stef, you…?”

It felt like candlemarks had passed.

“So.” Vanyel’s fingers played with the rim of his empty bowl. “Our optimistic assumptions put out that it’s more likely than not it wasn’t him. Even with our most pessimistic assumptions, one in ten that he’s not the real enemy, still enough to take some leaps of faith on.” He lifted a hand, rubbing his temple. “Of course, the problem with making up numbers for boxes is that it misses the unknowns in our blind spot.” He glanced at Stef. “You’re good at betting-games. If this were a game, what would your wager be?”

Calculation flashed through Stef’s eyes. “I’d gamble on Leareth’s honesty. Trouble is, in a game being wrong just means I lose my money. If we make a mistake here, we lose everything.”

“Not everything,” Vanyel said softly. “It’s significant, right, that we’re operating independently from Randi right now. So let’s think about what we’re really laying on the table here. My life and yours.” His eyes flicked to Jisa. “I’d rather keep you out of it, pet, but if it goes sideways enough, and you stay here with us, then we could lose you, and Treven too.”

Trev. It hurt, the ache of distance rising and mingling with the fear, but Jisa held steady, not letting her mind steer away. It was the choice she had made. To come north, despite the danger, because rescuing Van was worth that risk.

And then everything had changed, and it was a new game they were playing.

“Given that,” Vanyel said quietly, “and given that you’ve already done the most important part, of getting my mind untangled and my Gifts back…”

She could go back. Now that Van was free of the spell, they didn’t _need_ her–

No. They needed her, if not for her Gifts then for her mind; Van and Stef were only two people, guessing their way through the most complex puzzle anyone had ever played, for world-level stakes. The benefit of adding a third brain was worth it.

She wondered, vaguely, if Need would still be tugging at her when they finally caught up. It would tell her whether the pull had been for Van, or Yfandes, or some unrelated coincidence.

She folded her arms. “I’m staying.”

Vanyel looked steadily at her, and she looked back, unflinching, until he finally nodded.

“You’ll notice that’s still only four people,” he said quietly. “Seven if you include our Companions.”

“Some very important people,” Stef pointed out.

Jisa closed her eyes against the sting of tears. When she forced herself to think about it, she doubted Treven would fall apart on the spot. He was incredibly well-adjusted, which one had to admit Van _hadn’t_ been when he lost ‘Lendel. He had Melody right there, and Melody’s new herbs, and good reason to hang on long enough to fight a war. And it wasn’t like he was doing most of the strategic thinking anyway; he lacked the experience for it, and knew it, he was already counting on all the more experienced members of the Senior Circle. Would the key military decisions actually be made any differently, if Treven were distracted by a broken lifebond?

She felt like a monster for even thinking of it through that frame, and yet. _We have to bet something._

“I don’t think losing me would make the difference between winning or losing the entire war,” she said softly. “And I think it’s worth me staying.”

* * *

_An icy wind howling through the mouth of a passage carved from stone–_

(The reflexive confusion pulled Vanyel to full awareness. He was back in the dream, for the first time in…it had to be three months. How? There was new information, true, but that didn’t explain why it had failed to come sooner.)

_“Herald Vanyel.” Leareth faced him across the expanse of ice, his face and posture revealing nothing at all. He didn’t move._

(Maybe Leareth had blocked the dream, and now un-blocked it again? Except that didn’t make sense; being out of touch hadn’t helped with his interests at all.)

_“Leareth.” Vanyel was the first to step forward. One foot in front of the other, crossing the snowy slope with care, until he stood two yards away. “First of all. I want to keep talking.”_

(It was awfully convenient that the dream had mysteriously decided to resume. Suspiciously convenient? The automatic paranoia couldn’t find a target.)

_He ducked his head. “I don’t expect you to take this on faith, but it wasn’t my idea to get rescued.”_

_The slightest lift of one black eyebrow._

_“And I know it’s going to sound crazy,” Vanyel went on, “but I don’t know who did it.”_

_Leareth was silent, eyes resting on him, impassive._

_“So if your people saw what happened,” Vanyel added finally, “I would really appreciate you passing that on. Or, I mean, if it was you playing some kind of cat-and-mouse game with us, I’d also like confirmation.”_

(Though, as always, he couldn’t trust Leareth’s answer.)

_Leareth’s lips moved slightly, a hint of a smile. “Had I wished to release you – which I had been considering, for once we finished speaking – I would have done so openly, and with better timing. This was not my work. I cannot say how it was done, though given how many precautions your benefactor evaded, I suspect the interference of a greater Power.”_

(One of the gods. Stef had floated that idea, when he brought up the gryphons, but Jisa thought the timing couldn’t work, since Karis had only returned from Iftel the same morning Vanyel had been rescued. Still, ‘a god did it’ was one of the only explanations that made any sense. The Star-Eyed surely didn’t want him in Leareth’s hands, and might be desperate enough to blatantly intervene.)

_“You were transported instantly from the room,” Leareth said, “by some entity cloaked with magic. It was not a Gate. I would suspect your Valdemaran Gift of Fetching, except that all Mind-Gifts ought have been blocked by the shielding.” A pause. “All human Gifts, that is.”_

(Non-human magic. Could the damned _kyree_ have done it without Stef’s knowledge? If so, they had done an awfully convincing job of feigning ignorance, and for unclear reasons.)

_“I mislike it.” Leareth’s expression was hard to read, but Vanyel didn’t think the flash of distaste was aimed at him. “If They are to blame for this, I find the timing worrying. They allowed you to be captured, and left you a prisoner for some days, before choosing to disrupt our talks at the exact moment They did.”_

(That was interesting, and not in a reassuring way. Had this hypothetical god _wanted_ him to be kidnapped? It had the side effect of escalating the situation further, alarming Randi with more evidence of Leareth’s hostility. The intervention had come only after they started to make progress…)

_“My spies have heard nothing of your rescue.” A thin smile. “It is perhaps in our shared interest that I can neither locate nor threaten you. And I am glad to note you have restored your Gifts.”_

_Leareth didn’t ask about how it had been done._

_Vanyel didn’t speak either, only waited._

_Leareth’s eyes shifted downward. “Herald Vanyel, I ought have said this immediately. I am deeply sorry for what befell your friends. It was not my work, and yet their lights are still gone from the world.” Loose at his side, the fingers of one hand curled, not quite forming a fist. “Yet again, the gods have used both of us as their gamepieces.”_

_Leareth lifted his chin, looking Vanyel in the eye. “I rarely seek revenge for its own sake, but – vengeance has its purpose, in the long game played between all beings with desires and goals, and I will not let this stand. I wish it known that those who strike at my allies will pay for it, even, perhaps especially, if they are gods. I made that choice a long time ago.” An icy smile. “If it proves possible, and you wish it, I would offer that we claim that victory together, and that the final blow be yours.”_

(Vanyel didn’t know what to think, except that he really would have preferred Leareth hadn’t brought it up. The grief was so fresh, and the offer so…not kind, but thoughtful, in that bizarre and horrifying way Leareth had. Calling him a friend. Suggesting that they go after the culprit together. The flickers of anger, and if that was an act, Leareth was a better actor than anyone who had ever lived – which was plausible enough, and yet. Vanyel’s emotions were reeling again, caught between paranoid suspicion and pathetic gratitude, and that was the last thing he wanted right now.)

_Vanyel lifted a hand. “Thank you, but I’m not there yet. I need answers before I decide whose head I want on a platter.”_

_A slight nod. “You still think it possible that head is mine, and given what you know, I cannot blame you.” Something softened in his eyes. “You hold your uncertainty so clearly, despite your pain.”_

_“Yes, I’m trying to be good about that,” Vanyel said tightly. “And – I don’t know, I mean, I do want revenge, once I know, just…” He shrugged helplessly, unable to find the right words. “The future of the world matters more than my feelings, I wouldn’t want to…make tactical tradeoffs, so that I could avenge my people myself… Anyway. We need proof it wasn’t you, enough to convince the King, and if we don’t hurry, I’m worried we’ll end up at war anyway.”_

(Which could be taken as a threat, Vanyel realized, but it hadn’t really been his intent. Just a matter-of-fact statement of the constraints on them.)

_“You shifted me a lot closer to trusting you,” Vanyel went on. “When you agreed to the Truth Spell. It’s not proof, though – I know, we can’t ever be certain of anything, but I need something harder for you to fake.”_

(He had spoken about it for candlemarks with Jisa and Stef. There was really only one answer, and it was something that Leareth would almost certainly refuse, but he still had to ask, to give the man something to work with.)

_“I want full access to your mind,” he said. “With some extremely robust precautions against you murdering me. Like, say, having your Gifts blocked,” he held off on mentioning their less-invasive method of doing so, “but I might accept other forms of commitment. If you let me deep-scan you, see your intentions for myself, then I’ll be willing to trust you, and to stake my life on convincing Randi to back off on the war.”_

(Even if Jisa’s claim was right, the already-remarkable feat of a Mindhealer creating a persona that could pass a first-level Truth Spell, or generate surface thoughts that were convincing to a brief skim, had to be a thousand times easier than making it stand up to close inspection. Leareth would know that too, and so his agreeing to be read, showing that trust, would be a strong sign in itself.)

_“I see.” Leareth’s eyes were like still pools. “And I see that you expect me to refuse.” The wind caught at his hair, and he lifted a hand to sweep it back. “Herald Vanyel, I would accept, if you first allow Nayoki to scan you fully and verify your intent.”_

(That…wasn’t what he had expected, and Vanyel’s mind stumbled to a halt.)

_He swallowed. “Leareth, I understand why you want that reassurance. But I think I have some good reasons to trust you a lot less than you trust me. Also you’re still holding my Companion hostage. I’m not comfortable being the one who has to take the first risk here.”_

_Leareth’s chin tipped forward in acknowledgement. “I agree, your current position is more precarious than mine, and so I ought be the first to extend a costly sign of goodwill. I will think on it.”_

_A long silence, neither of them speaking._

_Leareth was the first to break it. “Have you considered the implications if I am telling the truth, Herald Vanyel?”_

_Vanyel bowed his head. “That there’s divine intervention at work here, against both of our interests. That the Star-Eyed Goddess vaporized an entire Vale full of my friends to start a war. There’s a Heartstone in Haven too, which I don’t much like the idea of, in the scenario where She’s our enemy.”_

_Leareth looked down as well. “It seems possible She might have transported the people elsewhere, first, but only if there were no chance of you finding out, so either way, you will not see them again.”_

_“Hmm.”_

(Vanyel couldn’t recall thinking of that, and he should have. It was interesting, Leareth choosing to point it out himself.)

_“Could you destroy yours?” Leareth said. “Without taking the city out in the process, I mean.”_

_“I don’t know.” Vanyel wasn’t sure he ought to give away any more. Leareth already knew that taking it down would compromise a lot of Valdemar’s current defenses._

_A thin smile played across Leareth’s lips. “We did speak, once, of another way that a Heartstone might be used. Which would result in it no longer belonging to the Star-Eyed Goddess.”_

_“Huh? …Oh.” Vanyel kept his expression very neutral. “You mean, when you talked about using it as a container for your god-ritual.” He blinked. “Are you– did you just tell a_ joke? _I didn’t know you were capable of that.”_

_“I am being facetious,” Leareth agreed. “Among other objections, I doubt you wish to murder several hundred people for the blood-power required.”_

_“Not really, no.”_

(It was food for thought, though. How would you go about shutting down – killing – a Heartstone that didn’t want to be killed? He doubted the Star-Eyed would be especially inclined to explode Haven, but it might give her subtler influence too. Could She feed false information to the Companions’ Foresight premonitions? He was getting ahead of himself, Vanyel thought. Wait until they knew what the actual situation was, then plan.)


	17. Chapter Seventeen

“Tran?” Dara said worriedly. “You all right?”

She had just gotten back from sparring – usually they went together a few times a week, but he had mumbled something about wanting to sleep in, so she had sparred with Katha instead. And gone straight to the bathhouse afterward, so it was now a full candlemark after dawn, but Tantras was still in their rooms. Not even dressed. He sat on the side of the bed with his head in his hands.

“Tran, hey.” She crossed the room and sat down next to him, slipping her arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He lifted his head, offering her a very unconvincing smile. “Just tired.”

“I told you not to stay up.” She had been virtuously in bed before midnight, and remembered his answering her prodding with a promise that he would be done in five more minutes, and then she must have dozed off. She had no idea what time he had actually gone to sleep.

“Had too. We’re behind.”

“Tran, this isn’t going to be over today or tomorrow. We’ve got to pace ourselves.”

He didn’t answer.

“What’s really keeping you awake at night?” She gently turned his cheek toward her. _:You can tell me. I won’t judge:_ They were carrying the same burdens. Whatever it was, she had very likely already cried about it while hiding in a closet between meetings.

 _:Van:_ He shuddered and then relaxed, letting his forehead rest against hers. _:We as good as sent him off to die. I know, he agreed to it, it was his goddamned idea, just…doesn’t sit right:_

With great effort, Dara kept herself from stiffening. Tuck away the rising terror and guilt. Tran didn’t know that Van was a prisoner, or where Jisa had gone, or any of it. Which galled her, but there were good reasons to keep it as private as possible. Compartmentalized.

 _:I should’ve argued:_ Tran sent, miserably. _:Pushed back harder. He caught me off guard, damn it! Damn it, I’ll never understand the man:_

Dara slid her fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. _:You do. It’s exactly like how you picked yourself up and kept going after Taver died. We’re Heralds – it’s what we do:_

He shuddered. _:Dara, what if–:_ A shaky breath. _:I never made things right with him. Not really. What if he dies out there, and…:_

 _:And you’ve missed your chance:_ She pulled him in closer. _:I’m sorry, Tran:_ What was she supposed to say? _:Everyone dies with unfinished business:_

_:I know. And he wouldn’t hold it against me – damn it, why is he like that? I wish he knew…:_

_:Knew what?:_

He tucked his chin into the crook of her neck. _:That I forgave him. For everything. Years ago. Gods, how is it I never even knew that until now?:_

 _:Because seeing the end up close makes everything clearer:_ For Dara as well. She held him tightly, never wanting to let go. _:Tran, you did wrong by him four years ago. I won’t argue with that. Still, I know how hard you’ve tried since then:_

 _:Reality won’t judge me on how much I tried:_ Guilt and pain. _:Only on results:_

He sounded exactly like Vanyel. Dara couldn’t think of any answer.

 _:You should get dressed:_ she sent, finally, peeling his arms off her. _:You’ll feel better once you’re up:_ Maybe she ought to have encouraged him to go back to sleep instead, but damn it, she needed him for today’s audience. Dragging him to bed at a reasonable time tonight would have to do.

_:Chosen:_

Just a few paces away from the office of the King’s Own, Dara froze. There was an urgency in Rolan’s mindvoice that she had rarely heard. _:What?:_

_:You ought come outside. Now:_

Dara groaned. It was a sunny day, but incredibly cold, the snow on the paths stiffened into a crust that squeaked underfoot. She hadn’t tried spitting to see if it would freeze before hitting the ground, but she suspected it was that kind of weather.

She gritted her teeth and turned on her heels. _:I’m coming:_ Damn Rolan for being in one of his cagey moods, not telling her what it was.

Joshel caught up with her just before the door. “Dara? My Companion says–”

“Rolan too.” She pushed ahead of him, shoving the door open and wincing as the hairs inside her nose curled; she was an idiot for not bringing a scarf.

 _Oh._ Blinking in the searing sunlight, she stumbled to a halt.

“What–” Joshel cut off, the breath gusting out of him in a white cloud.

High, high above their heads, dark shapes moved in silhouette against the brilliant sky. Familiar shapes.

Gryphons.

Dara did a rough count. They kept moving, circling overhead, but she guessed twenty-one. The _hradurr_ , arriving in the vanguard.

Maybe they were waiting for an indication that it was safe to land. Or for directions.

Was their vision keen enough to see her all the way down here? She jumped up and down, waving, and when she saw the flight-pattern change, turned and started jogging. Feeling a moment’s relief and gratitude to her past self, that she had sent out orders to take over one of the big banquet-halls and prepare it to receive the gryphons, the day they got word back. It ought to be ready for them.

Joshe chased after her, panting in the icy air, and Keiran caught up with them near where the path turned away from the river. She could already feel Rolan waiting ahead.

 _:I’m bringing them to Companions’ Field, love:_ she sent. _:Is that all right?:_

 _:It seems the best place:_ he agreed.

Lots of open space, was what she had been thinking, and it wasn’t too far from their eventual quarters.

Staggering to a halt, she tilted her head back and waved again. Unable to tell if they understood the silent message – but a moment later, moving as though a single body, the formation shifted, banked, and dived toward her.

Joshe yelped, darting back. Dara held steady. Gryphons might be ungainly on the ground, but airborne, they were in perfect control.

Skatashan pral Kav’a’la was the first to hit the ground, barely two yards away from where Dara stood. The wind of her passage whipped her short hair back, forcing her to squint against the snow-dust that swept at her face, but she had both feet braced in a wide stance, and held firm.

 _:Rolan:_ she sent, apropos of nothing.

_:You can do this, Chosen:_

Dara took a deep breath, and let it out. “Welcome to Valdemar,” she heard herself say.

* * *

Stef drifted to awareness, a wordless question rising along with a familiar, quickening fear, then settling before either one came clear, soothed by the warm weight against his chest.

_Van._

Still half-asleep, he pulled his lifebonded in closer. That was nice, waking to find him exactly where he had been when they fell asleep, even if it meant that one of Stef’s forearms had fallen asleep under his weight. Normally, Vanyel tossed and turned a _lot_. Stef was a deep sleeper, fortunately, and had his own tendency to wake up diagonal across the bed, usually dragging the blankets in his wake, some random part of his body laying claim to the space where Van was.

Vanyel’s breathing changed. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed again.

Stretching, Stef’s hand brushed coarse fur, then encountered warm stone. Memory flowed in, pulling him closer to alertness. They were in the _kyree_ caves, in the little side-nook he had made into a nest for his lifebonded, though he had previously slept on the floor outside it. Not much space to move for either of them. He remembered prodding Van to go to bed, once he started yawning during their little strategy-meeting – and then lying awake with his partner tense and shivering beside him, until Stef, too exhausted to sing him to sleep, had gotten up and mixed a half-dose of the valerian from their stores.

They were safe. Together. Stef was already starting to slide back into sleep, when he felt more than heard another hitch in Vanyel’s breathing.

“Van- _ashke_?” he whispered, lifting his head from the pillow of folded skins. His partner was shielding, but not enough to entirely block the misery that leaked through when Stef reached into the lifebond.

No answer except for a faint sniffle. Van’s face was turned away from him, but Stef’s exploring hand felt the dampness of silent tears. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

 _:I miss her:_ The grief that brushed his mind was cold and bottomless. _:And Moondance, and Starwind…_ _K’Treva’s gone. We can’t ever go back:_ His shoulders shook. _:Stef, I don’t understand – why does it hurt so much, it’s been weeks…:_

That part made perfect sense to him. “We didn’t have time to grieve,” Stef murmured. “You put it away for later. Now it’s later.”

 _:I thought I was on my way to join them:_ Almost shame in the admission. _:Not consciously, but some part of me…Stef, I wasn’t expecting...:_

To still be alive. “I know,” he whispered. “Me neither. Didn’t feel like there was any future left, but now…maybe there is.” A wonderful gift, and yet, he finally understood the pain inherent in it. The sun rising over a world that still held a gaping hole where dead friends had once stood. It didn’t matter if they won the war, or avoided it entirely; there were losses that couldn’t be recouped.

“It’s all right to grieve,” he added.

 _:I know:_ Hemmed in by the narrow space, Vanyel shifted in his arms, turning over to face him. _:Have to make space for it, that’s what Melody would say…:_

Stef’s eyes burned as well. It was hard to speak. “Last summer…k’Treva…didn’t think it’d be the last time. Least I got to…see it…before…” He couldn’t finish.

 _:It was worth it:_ Vanyel agreed. _:I had twenty years. A home away from home, whenever I needed it. They were the best friends anyone could ask for:_ His face crumpled, and he leaned into Stef’s shoulder. _:Hurts now, to remember the good times, but…I should…:_

Stef held him close. There were no reassurances he could offer, not even platitudes.

 _:If it wasn’t Leareth then it’s almost certainly the Star-Eyed, and – I can’t…:_ A child’s pointless, agonizing plea. _:What if we can’t win a fight against a god. Or gods:_

“Leareth’s trying it.” Stef felt the resolve rise. “We’ll find out the truth, Van- _ashke_. Whoever it was, they’re going to pay.”

Vanyel went rigid in his arms.

“What?” Stef, fully awake now, rolled back a few inches. “Van, what is it?”

 _:Leareth:_ A deliberate breath, forced in and out.

“You had the dream.” It wasn’t a question. He’d thought it just an ordinary nightmare. ‘Just’.

_:He offered to avenge them. Find out who went after my friends and make them regret it. He said if I wanted, the final blow could be mine…:_

Stef’s breath hissed out between his teeth. That was… _Very skillful manipulation_ , the quiet voice in the back of his mind stated, with no particular emotion.

Which wasn’t false, and yet.

 _:We need to talk:_ Vanyel sent. _:Plan our next move–:_

“Soon, Van- _ashke_.” Stef pulled Vanyel’s head down against his chest. “Soon.”

* * *

“Father.” Standing in the doorway to her parents’ suite, Lissa forced her spine to straighten. Girding herself for battle.

Mother was nowhere to be seen. Withen’s eyes lifted from the table, lighted on her. She watched his expression shift, blank to confused to resigned. “You’re going north.”

“Tomorrow morning. I just got my orders.” She kept her face controlled. “Father, I’ll be stationed in Waymeet.” For now. “That won’t be the front lines even if there is an attack.”

He shook his head, swatting at the air as though pushing away the attempt at reassurance. “Come, girl,” he said, gruff, eyes fixed on the plate of bread and cheese in front of him. “Sit down. Pour yourself a drink.” He gestured vaguely at the jug of watered wine, two unused cups next to it.

She crossed the room. Eased herself cautiously into a chair. “Where’s Mother?”

“Out at the market.” Her father tore off a chunk of bread and shoved it into his mouth, chewing. Stalling.

Lissa dug around for something to say. “We’ve got five thousand troops concentrated in Waymeet now,” she said brightly. “Six thousand by the time I arrive. I’m really not sure where they’re _putting_ all of them, but it seems Keiran did lay out a plan for that. It’s all been orderly.” She forced a smile. “Merchants are making a killing.” And a few circus caravans and stage-theatre troupes, apparently, supplying that many bored soldiers with entertainment. “It’d be a good time to invest in a caravan if you wanted to double your coin.”

No answer.

Finally, he looked up. “You’d better–” His jaw worked. “You’d better be damned careful, girl. We just heard…your nephew…”

“Medren’s going north too?”

“Seems so.” Father was determinedly picking his bread-roll apart. “They’re sending Ariel east. Border circuit, swapping with someone more experienced to free them up. A safe border, all told, but…”

“Of course Mother’s upset.” Lissa shifted in the chair, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I–”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t. Just don’t.” Finally, painfully, he lifted his eyes to hers. “You made your choice, years ago. Rest was inevitable. You’re a damned good commander. If Randale _wasn’t_ sending you north, he’d be making a mistake. The Kingdom needs you.”

Lissa leaned back, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. “Father, I…”

Withen reached across the table, taking her hand in a firm grip. A vein pulsed in his forehead. “Lissa. I’m…so…proud of you. Want you to know that.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Father, I love you.”

Through a haze, she saw him gulp. “You…matter to me,” he forced out. “To us. So much, but I’d never ask you to stay out of danger just for us. Not when duty calls.” A rough smile. “Not how an Ashkevron does things. Never has been.”

He understood. “Thank you,” Lissa managed, blinking hard.

“Something I should give you.” He was avoiding her eyes, digging in the inside pocket of his tunic. “Here. Listen, I know you can’t promise, but…you’ve got a better chance of crossing paths with your brother.” A letter, marked with his seal, skidded across the table. “If you do… This is for him.”

Lissa shivered. “I’ll try my best.”

* * *

“Jisa, no.” Vanyel folded his arms. “Absolutely not.”

She sagged. “But it’d work. Father," she only called him that out loud when she was trying _very_ hard to get his attention and be persuasive, "you’re _not_ qualified for this. I am. If Nayoki and I met in a neutral location, traded places… She’s a genius. I really don’t think he’d risk losing her.”

They had been talking in circles all day, ever since Vanyel related his dream conversation to Jisa and Stef. Eventually, his lifebonded had sought his permission to pull in Aroon and Hyrryl as well, but neither of the _kyree_ had been able to suggest anything better.

The _kyree_ had offered to send an envoy. It would reveal their existence, but so would Nayoki scanning Vanyel’s mind.

The clan didn’t have a Mindhealer. Even with their strong Mindspeech, they ran into the same problem Rrah had faced with Healing; they weren’t human, and their minds worked differently enough that they might miss important aspects.

“He might. He’s that ruthless.” Vanyel stared his daughter down. A day in, he had almost stopped finding it disconcerting, looking into Clara’s face. “Jisa, we can’t trust his intentions. Not enough. If he’s looking to betray Valdemar, and you give him a chance to take out the heir’s lifebonded, he’ll see a way to destabilize our leadership and he might take it whatever the cost to him.”

She blinked, calculation in her eyes. “Then I won’t go as me,” she said a moment later. “He thinks I’m still in Haven. Everyone does. I could go as Clara. Hide my mage-gift, leave Enara, go with that horse I stole. I don’t actually have to let _him_ fully into my mind, I could prevent him from finding out with some surface-level redirects.”

“Jisa, I don’t care how good the White Winds illusions are, he might still see through it, and having him find out we were deceiving him could break everything even if he _is_ working in good faith. It’s too dangerous.” Vanyel frowned. “Where is Enara, anyway?”

“It’s only been two days since I left Haven,” Jisa pointed out. “She should reach Waymeet sometime tomorrow, but she’s still got to come all the way to us.” A pause. “Damn it, she won’t actually know where I am, and I daren’t Mindspeak her at that range. Hopefully she’ll guess I went ahead. She knows where the barn is.”

“Speaking of that.” Stef wandered up to join them. Clad in a motley arrangement of skins, he looked like a wild barbarian shaman. Vanyel was a little embarrassed by just how attractive he found that look. _All he needs is a necklace of teeth and claws._

Focus. “What?”

“We still need to get some kind of message out.” Stef leaned against the rippled stone wall and stretched, cat-like, not helping Vanyel’s concentration at all. “Randi needs to at least know the troop numbers the _kyree_ scoped out for us – and, gods, he deserves to know you’re safe, but that’s even more sensitive…”

Vanyel narrowed his eyes, thinking hard. “I agree it’s a huge risk, using any medium that could be intercepted. But it’s very relevant. _Jisa_ didn’t know I was rescued. If Randi only knows about the kidnapping, things look a lot worse. Leareth looks a lot worse.”

“And that could spook him into starting offensive action,” Stef agrees. “That’d be very bad. At least he knows you’re _alive_ …”

“Leareth might have reason to keep me alive even in the world where he’s straightforwardly our enemy. I know a lot of Valdemar’s secrets.” Vanyel scowled. “The trouble is, he might explicitly order me to come home.”

Stef shrugged. “Then you disobey orders,” he said lightly. “He can’t stop you. We don’t actually need to say where you are – we shouldn’t, in fact, that’s the part we most need Leareth not to intercept.”

Jisa lifted a finger to her chin, thoughtful. “If we’re willing to wait another five days, that’s when Brightstar and I agreed we would meet on the Moonpaths. A week after I left. I could try to Call him, but I don’t expect it’ll work, he doesn’t have a shaman’s training and neither do I. Or we could drop off a letter in Waymeet – I can layer my own illusion on top of this one, go in disguise, and I’ve got my one-time code so it shouldn’t be possible for anyone who intercepts it to read it unless they’ve compromised Katha. Or I could send one of my extra-planar allies with a coded message for Brightstar. I should be able to direct them to him.”

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “Hmm. I don’t want to wait five days. A lot could happen in that time. I think the last one is the best option; I’m worried about visiting Waymeet too many times.” Leareth surely had agents there by now, and every trip down was an opportunity for them to be followed on their return.

Jisa nodded cheerfully. “I’ll do that, then.”

Stef had gotten his calculating look again. “If we’re sending a secure message anyway, maybe we should ask for Melody. She’s got to be qualified to deep-scan Leareth, and she’s less–”

“Less indispensable?” Jisa scowled. “Less important? She built Mindhealers’ from the ground up. They need her more than ever. Besides, she’d say no.”

“Since she’s not insane, probably,” Vanyel said dryly. “And she’s less able to defend herself.” Still, he couldn’t help turning the possibility over in his mind. His head was aching again; he resisted the urge to touch the still-tender lump at the back of his skull.

“I need a walk,” he said finally. “Stef, I think I want to be alone this time.”

Stef nodded, unbothered. “‘Course. I’ll go work on a message draft with Jisa.”

Vanyel retrieved his cloak, well, bearskin from beside their nook; he had pierced holes in it on either side, and knotted a strip of leather that he could tie as a sort of clasp, but it was otherwise unmodified, including the flattened bear’s head and limbs. The fur was nice and thick; it was actually a lot warmer than his other cloak, abandoned somewhere behind Leareth’s lines. He was already wearing the closest thing he had to outdoor footwear, a pair of slipper-like shoes that Stef had stitched together from deerskin. Not durable enough for a long hike, but he didn’t intend to go far.

Gods, it felt good to move. He was feeling much better; the dizziness and foggy-headedness were almost gone, and his appetite was coming back. Stef, bless him, had brought him chava in bed that morning, along with his herbs – gods, he wondered how much of the unpleasantness during his captivity and the ensuring days had come from suddenly stopping the medicine, and then equally suddenly resuming, neither of which was recommended.

Nodding to Hyrryl at the cave-mouth, he slipped out into starlight. It was freezing. The inside of his nose prickled, and he dared a tiny heat-spell, tucked under his bear-robe.

It was beautiful. The mountains, visible only as silhouettes that sliced out an uneven rim of sky, seemed almost close enough to touch.

Was Leareth, wherever he was, looking at the stars as well? _What are you thinking?_ The question that, above all, he needed to answer – but it was too distant, too difficult to think about right now.

 _Savil, I wish you were here._ Tears stung his eyes, smearing the stars into trails of light. Was it ever going to stop hurting?

He missed the numbness, the stark, resigned clarity of their breakneck journey north. It had been easier. Now everything was muddy, tangled, weighing up conflicting segments of a puzzle mostly out of sight. _What am I missing?_ No path forward felt safe.

_– Van –_

A whisper on the wind. A pull, coming from…where? Not quite a mindvoice, it was deeper than that, but not the lifebond either…

_– Van – where are you – Chosen –_

Vanyel sagged to his knees, his vision suddenly hazy. _Yfandes._ He could feel her. Just barely, she had to be at extreme range, but the barrier was gone. He had the sense that if he really and truly reached, he would find her.

She was free, and looking for him.

He reached for a node on instinct, to boost his Mindspeech. And stopped. If Leareth had freed Yfandes deliberately, it might be as a ‘costly sign of goodwill’, but it might also be a trap. Vanyel didn’t even know what direction she was in, so directional Mindspeech was pointless, and he would be as good as Broadsending his location to any skilled Thoughtsenser in the intervening area.

Reluctantly, half hating himself for it, Vanyel raised his shields, weaving them until he had entirely blocked off their bond. Then he rose, staggering, faint with relief and elation and confusion and…fear? It had been so faint; now, remembering, it was easy to think he could have imagined that call. The uncertainty-tainted hope was almost more painful than no hope at all.

Hyrryl’s snout rose as he stumbled into the cave. _:Herald, are you well?:_

He tried to answer, but even during his brief foray outside, the chill air had numbed his lips. _:My Companion:_ he sent. _:Thought I felt her. I don’t want – if it’s a trap – I mustn’t lead her to us, but…:_

 _:You need her:_ Hyrryl’s ears had pricked up, her muzzle lowering. _:We would aid you in searching for her, if you might point us where to start:_

‘Somewhere within a hundred miles of here’ wasn’t that helpful. Where would Leareth have sent Yfandes, if he really and truly had no idea where Vanyel was?

 _:They would’ve had to transport her across the mountains:_ he sent. _:Stef said when they captured us, there was a Gate… I would start searching there:_

 _:Of course:_ Blue eyes widened. _:That is the logical place:_ She rose, padding past, her shoulders brushing his hip reassuringly. _:I will send our scouts. Her name is…?:_

 _:Yfandes:_ Still dizzy, he slumped against the wall. _:Be careful. Could be he’s got people following her at a distance:_

 _:They will not see us:_ Sly pride in Hyrryl’s mindvoice. _:Do not worry, young man. We will bring her to you safe and unseen. In the meantime, it is late, and the journey is long. You ought rest:_

Vanyel licked his lips. “I’ll try.” He wasn’t at all sure that he would be able to sleep.

* * *

“That is very good,” Brightstar said, in Rethwellani, as steadily as he could manage. “You did well today. I will tell Dara that you are ready.”

The faces of a dozen Adepts looked back at him, solemn, unsmiling.

Unsure of the right formality, he bowed awkwardly. “You may go now. Alethra, would you stay a moment? I would speak to you.”

The golden-haired Adept nodded, stepping to the side and letting her comrades pass. Brightstar waited while they filed out of the Work Room, and then closed the door and leaned on it.

Alethra’s expression had been impassive throughout their session, and even when he had worked in close rapport with her, her surface thoughts had given away little. Now, though, concern bloomed in her eyes, and she crossed the room and took his hand.

“Are you well?” she said softly. “Brightstar, lad, I worry for you.”

He tugged his hand free of hers. “I am well enough.” Melody had tried to talk him into taking today off, but resting wouldn’t help with this pain. It was better when he could keep himself occupied, and better yet to do something helpful to the war.

 _Your father is still alive,_ Melody had reminded him. _You will have your chance to help._

The Adept’s fair brows lifted. She reached for him again, this time touching his forehead. “There is a great pain in you. And rage. It is very understandable, a terrible wrong has befallen you, and yet, you know what we say of such feelings. They are ties to darkness, and will twist and weaken your power.”

Irritation surged, _what does she know –_ and then the gentle loop that Melody had placed in his mind caught him, tugging him back to the memory of the trees. Peaceful. Home.

It wasn’t real. The trees were gone. _I have no home. Never again._

Brightstar gulped, and forced a deep breath in and out.“I am angry,” he confessed. There was no point in trying to hide it from her. “Is it so wrong to grieve for my family and my home? To hate the man who so callously destroyed them?”

Alethra blinked. She opened her mouth and then closed it, apparently at a loss for words.

What were the words Melody had used? “Fighting my pain and putting it in a corner will not help,” Brightstar said. Holding it up like a shield.

Alethra’s eyelids flickered downward. “No. That is true. It is better to acknowledge it, and to be honest with oneself.”

He bent his head. “Gervase told us once that White Winds did not decry all emotion. That those positive bonds, of parents and children, of family and friends–” his throat caught, “–that those are good and precious. I cannot deny my anger or my hurt, and it will not help to try, they will only drive me from behind.” More words that Melody had given him, a gift he hadn’t realized he would value so much. “Is it not better that I recognize them, and hold to what they come from? That I loved my parents, who are gone, and I would carry that love with me, and let it give me strength.”

The words of a Messenger were still with him. _Sister and brother. Precious children, born of power, raised in love._ Jisa, his beloved sister, who was even now fighting for their father – and if he couldn’t be at her side, he could at least be doing something to help from behind the lines. In five more days he would see her again, on the Moonpaths, and he could tell her of what he had done.

He was trying not to think of the other part of that prophecy, that claimed they would end up on opposite sides. Foresight could be averted, sometimes.

 _Carry the light that your parents bestowed on you,_ the Messenger had said, _and always remember what you are._ For so long, it had felt as though he wasn’t anything, anymore. That everything he had been had blown away with the dust that had once been k’Treva, and what was left was only a shell.

Nonetheless, he was still here. He had survived, when the others had not, and it would be disrespectful to push aside that sign of his Goddess’ wishes. She had sent him dreams, after all. She had ensured he would not be in k’Treva when destruction came calling. It was as Melody had said, and he could finally acknowledge it now; it made no sense to blame himself for having failed to die alongside his parents.

It seemed the Star-Eyed still needed him.

 _What am I?_ It had felt so unclear, lost in haze, and yet. He was still Tayledras. A Healing-Adept. Protector of the land, and if he had lost his own land, well, there was still Valdemar. The homeland of his father and sister, and so in a way, perhaps it was his as well.

A different Power, in a different place, had spoken a message that had not been intended mainly for him, but perhaps it was no coincidence he had been there to hear it. _Remember that which you love, and your path will be clear._

The ways of the gods were mysterious, their messages cryptic. And yet, it was enough. He knew who he loved, and so he knew what he was, and what path lay ahead.

Alethra was still staring hard at him. Finally, she nodded, though she didn’t look entirely reassured. “Well, lad, I’m very sorry about what happened,” she said. “If you need anything, if you need to talk, I’m always here.” A pause. “What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Thoroughly distracted, it took him a few moments to find the thread of thought again. “Oh. It is a question of mage-craft.” He tried for a disarming smile. “You are by far more skilled than I am.” Flattery was always effective; he remembered Stef saying so. “I would ask of the spell we use to search for a person, with their blood as a focus. I want to know more of how it was created, and – might be changed…”

* * *

_This is unbelievable._

Flattened against a wall to keep out of the way, Medren turned on the spot, scarlet cloak held tightly around his body, and surveyed what must have once been an ordinary town square. Not so different from Forst Reach Village, though the Temple to Kernos here was so new that the wooden eaves still shone yellow rather than weathered gray.

Turn further, past the mud-brick town hall and grain-storage depot, and the bustle came into view. Hundreds of bodies in Guard-blue, and a few in the russet of the Karsite army, mixed in among the local civilians, muffled with scarves and mittens and caps, some huddling in their cloaks or blowing on their hands, but most in the midst of some task, purposeful but not rushed. Off in the distance, a cart laden with fresh-cut lumber rumbled by on the road, which was so newly-paved that it glistened.

Keep turning, and the high arched doorway he had just walked through came into view. One of the brown-robed foreign mages stood on each side, hands raised, and the inside of it still showed the courtyard four hundred miles away in Haven. The place he had called home for eight years. Even on his Bardic trial, he hadn’t ever been so far north.

His aunt Lissa had been one of the first to cross, and was now directing her people through, shouting and gesturing, her braid whipping back and forth in the breeze. It all seemed to be proceeding smoothly, each pair or trio of soldiers taking charge of a crate or sack of supplies, efficiently moving them out of the way to make room for others to cross.

Medren watched for awhile, fascinated, but it seemed likely to go on for the next half-candlemark. _I’d better get out of their way._ Hefting his travel-pack and lute case, he eased past, out into the main street.

It was incredible, the variety of faces, colours of hair and skin, the dialects of a dozen regions of Valdemar – and other languages, mingling in, not just Rethwellani but snippets of tongues he didn’t recognize.

He walked, and walked, and it kept going. Lissa said there were almost seven thousand troops already here, including her mercenaries and Karis’ forces. He could believe it.

Stef would love it, he thought, and winced. _I wonder, did you pass through here?_ If so, it would surely have been weeks ago, when the place was much less exciting.

_I wish I knew where you were now._

There – that wide, multi-storey building had to be the Healers’ compound, which was apparently where he was sleeping rather than in the Guard barracks, though he had a stamped and sealed letter with the name of the captain he would technically be reporting to. Here as a Bard, he wasn’t exactly in the standard chain of command.

Healers’ had the same feel of a well-organized beehive, buzzing with activity, urgency but no panic. Stepping into the relative warmth of the high-ceilinged entry hall, rushes crunching underfoot and torches on every wall, it was hard to be afraid. There was an infectious sense of…not exactly optimism, but readiness.

It was tempting to be excited, caught up in the energy of preparation, rather than sick at heart for what it was all for. _I hate war. I wish we could just not._

Still, it was what it was – and, given that, his presence here wouldn’t make it any worse, and might do some good. Somehow, to someone.

Wherever Stef and Uncle Van were, he was four hundred miles closer to them now.

Wherever they were, it was unrealistic to hope they were safe, but he could at least pray that they were under shelter and warm enough.

* * *

“‘Fandes!” Vanyel hugged her neck, burying his face in her coat. “’Fandes, gods, I’m so glad – I missed you so much…”

She blew into his hair. _:I love you, Chosen:_

Aroon had prodded him out of a sound sleep about three minutes ago, but the touch of Yfandes’ mind had brought him instantly to full alertness. His chest was singing, joy and hope and relief. “’Fandes, I don’t – how, why…?”

 _:Why did he let me go?:_ Confusion and doubt blurred her delight. _:I don’t know. Van, I can’t remember anything. We were being attacked and then I woke up in a cave. Feeling awful. The kyree told me it’s been over a week!:_

“Lucky you.” Though a little disappointing; he had hoped she could tell him more about Leareth’s compound. He tangled his fingers in her mane, still dusted with melting snow. “Skipped a lot of unpleasantness. Guess he didn’t need you functional for anything.”

Yfandes’ snuffled at his face. _:Sounds like we have a lot of catching up to do:_

“We do. We really, really do.” He backed off a little, glancing around. Stef and Jisa were both watching him from a respectful distance, as was Aroon.

“Aroon?” he said. “Er, is there a place we can go?” They were a dozen yards inside the caves, close enough to the mouth that he was rapidly getting chilled. Stef’s mare and Jisa’s stolen gelding had an area to themselves, the stone floor padded with rushes, but he preferred not to go there – they were horses, not Companions, and the area stank of manure.

The scout lowered its muzzle, ears tilting forward. _:Follow me:_

The _kyree_ were ahead of him, it seemed, and had prepared a spot for Yfandes as well, a corner that was secluded but large and high enough to fit several Companions comfortably. Like with many of the side-caves, two of the walls were thin and crystalline enough to be translucent, their strange permanent mage-lights shining through. Since recovering his Gifts, Vanyel kept meaning to ask what powered them; he couldn’t sense it.

Yfandes peeled off and went directly for the water-trough. _:Kernos’ horns, I’m thirsty. Eating snow just doesn’t do it:_ A pause. _:Where did they get all that grain? It’s not from our stores:_

It wasn’t; Melody-the-horse and the new addition of Jisa’s stolen mount had eaten their way through everything they had brought. “I’m not sure,” Vanyel confessed. The _kyree_ hunted, he knew, that was where the meat and skins came from, and they cultivated mushrooms in some of the caves, but surely they didn’t farm; they were carnivores.

 _:We appropriate it:_ Aroon sent, amused. _:When we have guests who require it. With Fetching, from farmers who are unscrupulous enough to deserve it:_

Vanyel heard Stef’s chuckle. “Perfect.”

Thirst slaked, Yfandes settled down on the straw. _:Chosen, tell me. What’s been happening? How did you escape?:_

“I didn’t.” He joined her on the ground, resting back against her flank. “Mysteriously rescued. We still don’t know how. Leareth helpfully told me I vanished, that it looked like Fetching but wasn’t done with a human’s Mind-Gifts…”

“Oh!” Jisa’s voice. “I just realized – _oh_.”

Vanyel twisted around. “What?”

She was staring into nothing, jaw slack. “Sola,” she said faintly. “ _Obviously_ it was Sola.”

Vanyel blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

Jisa turned, wide-eyed. “We know she can jump, which is like Fetching, only it’s a special Suncat power, so of course Leareth wouldn’t know to block it. And Dara straight-up asked her! I was _there_. She said no, but…she didn’t say she couldn’t. Just that she wouldn’t without orders from Vkandis.” Her eyes narrowed. “I bet she went and asked Him.”

“That makes a lot of sense. Divine intervention, like we thought.” Stef folded himself down against the wall opposite Vanyel, splaying out both legs in front of him. “She hasn’t got hands. She was probably hauling him around with her teeth. No wonder she dropped him a couple of times.”

“I asked Mother about it,” Jisa said. “What it was like. Sola jumped her and Arven to Healers’ after the attack. She said it made her feel ill, Sola called it jump-sickness, and that was less than a mile. Van, if she brought you two hundred miles, no wonder you were so sick from it.” A pause. “Wait. The timing… All that happened before I even left Haven. Why didn’t she say something? We could’ve stopped worrying–” Her breath caught, and she sagged. “And Randi wouldn’t’ve sent me. So I’m glad she didn’t.”

That was interesting. “Maybe something about precedent,” Vanyel offered. “Companions don’t like to publicly show off their full power either. Or…maybe she has Foresight, like Companions do, and Saw that we needed you to be sent.”

“Hmm.” Jisa sat as well. “Maybe. Anyway. Van, Leareth sending ‘Fandes back… It _must_ be that gesture of goodwill he was talking about.”

“Or a trap,” Vanyel muttered darkly. “…Sorry, ‘Fandes, I know it wouldn’t be your fault, just…”

 _:I understand:_ She shifted, nipping affectionately at his sleeve. _:I didn’t Sense anyone or anything nearby:_ It took Vanyel a moment to realize that she had included everyone in the link.

 _:Nor did we:_ Hyrryl’s mindvoice; the _kyree_ shaman hovered in the doorway. _:The scouts checked thoroughly, and I cloaked their passage. Were there watchers, they cannot have followed:_

Vanyel had his doubts, but he let it slide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the final chapter I'll be posting on this accelerated bonus schedule, but hopefully this has gotten us far enough along to feed some delightful and juicy speculation!


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Brightstar swooped through the Void on wings of fire. _It must be here. It must._

His father was in Leareth’s hands, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do about it. Nor to aid his sister. Three days since her departure, and they had heard nothing.

_I have to find it._

If he could do that one thing… It wouldn’t be enough. So far from it. Nothing could bring back the spirits of his murdered parents and friends – and yet, perhaps, they would rest easier in the care of the Goddess, knowing that the monster who had taken them was gone forever. If no more Vales could ever fall at Leareth’s hands again, he would have repaid his debt to the Goddess, that he had failed to be there, to protect Her land.

He could never go home. That would be his punishment, forever. No more than what he deserved.

Melody said it wasn’t his fault. So did Shavri. They didn’t understand. He was a Healing-Adept; he should have known.

And he was still failing, in the one duty left to him.

If he could only have killed Leareth with his own hands, and followed his fleeing spirit straight to its destination. _Then_ he could have found it – but the man was too skilled, and the Void was too well-chosen a place to hide something.

He was making no progress, and if he spent longer here, he would tire himself unduly, and Featherfire would notice and worry. Reluctantly, Brightstar turned away from the swirling chaos, following the silver cord of energies that tied him to his real body.

In desperation, he had attempted the idea that Jisa had given him, the night before. Taking the spell he had repurposed to search for his father; asking Alethra’s advice on modifying it, she had been curious but hadn’t asked why; and replacing the focus with one of Leareth’s ancient spell-artifacts and several of his old books. It had failed, and nearly drained him unconscious in the process. Perhaps the spell couldn’t recognize the mage-craft done by Leareth in different bodies as belonging to the same spellcaster.

Returning to his body, Brightstar lay still for a few moments, looking up at the ceiling. He had strung a lattice with vines, using his Gifts to coax them to grow faster, but still, it was nothing like home.

 _Dada. Papa._ He missed them, so much, a pain that was sharp and bright.

_:?:_

Something was prodding at his Othersenses. For an instant he thought it had to be one of the _vrondi_ , bothering him for doing magic, but he wasn’t casting. Projecting his body to the Moonpaths and from there to the Void wasn’t a spell.

No, not one of the vrondi. With mage-sight, he could See it. A _sylphon_. The being was also an air-elemental, but more akin to the _khamsin_ than the _vrondi_ , intelligent enough to speak the shared language of the other Planes.

And to recognize specific mortals, though Brightstar didn’t think he had encountered this individual before. One of Jisa’s?

Brightstar _could_ speak to the being like this, but only via Mindtouch. It would be more polite to give the creature a body. Rising to his haunches, he absently cast a circle of protection, by gesture and word without bothering to use any physical focus. He opened a summoning-doorway, but rather than Calling, he just held out an offering of his own energy.

Fog swirled inside the circle as the _sylphon_ accepted the gift, shaping itself into a slender, winged creature that shone iridescent in the dim-lit room.

“N’hellan s’challa Brightstar?” it said in a voice that sounded like wind-chimes. _Are you the mage Brightstar?_

Brightstar nodded deeply, respectfully.

The being bounced in the air, weightless. “Vede tsalka s’challa Jisa.” _I am a friend to the mage Jisa._ “Sad’har n’stala.” _I bring a message._

Brightstar felt his eyes widen, mouth going slack. He nodded again, instinctively doling out more of his power. “He’lele,” he said. _I’m listening._

* * *

_:I missed you, Chosen:_ Enara sent, for about the twentieth time. _:I love you so much:_

 _:It was only four days:_ Jisa shot back, but she leaned into her Companion’s side anyway. _:I missed you too:_

Enara whickered. _:An awfully eventful four days:_

They were in the area of the caves set aside for the Companions. It was already noon, the day after Yfandes’ return. Van had gone out for a ride; he seemed to get stir-crazy, cooped up inside the caves, and he had somehow coaxed Stef into accompanying him despite the chill outside.

 _:Sounds just like him:_ Need grunted in her head. _:Men!:_ The feel of someone swatting affectionately at her hair. _:Not going to say you missed me?:_

 _:I did miss you:_ Not in the same soul-deep way, but especially on the night she had gone to find Van and Stef, she had felt naked without the blade.

Checking the marks on the wall, it was the twenty-third day since Savil’s death. Jisa’s fifteenth name day fell in barely a month. _Wouldn’t it be ironic if I spent it out here?_

Surely not. There had to be some resolution, sooner or later. Some end to this.

It would come a lot sooner if Van would just let her help.

 _:Enara:_ she sent, and pulled Need into the link as well. _:Did ‘Fandes fill you in on the state of thing?:_

 _:The basics, yes:_ Curiosity mixed with worry.

Jisa took a deep breath. “I had an idea,” she said out loud. “It’s the best I can think of so far to get out of this impasse, but Van won’t go for it.” Why was she so hesitant to share it? Probably because Enara was just going to tell her off as well. It was, in fact, a terrible idea. It was just that she really and truly didn’t see anything better.

She straightened her spine. “We need to see directly into Leareth’s mind. Confirm his intentions in a way he can’t fake. And he won’t let Van meet him in person. Makes sense, Van is powerful enough to take him in a fight. But I could go.”

She had, on reflection, given up on the idea of going in under a disguise and false name; Van was right, it was too likely that Leareth would catch her out. Even hiding her mage-gift was fraught; if he caught a whisper of it in her surface thoughts, he might react preemptively to an expected betrayal.

Enara waited, giving no answer.

Another steadying breath. “I’m just ordinary Adept strength, not whatever Vanyel is, he’d feel less threatened. I’m better placed for the deep-scan itself, given my training. Also there’s no way Leareth can lay a compulsion on me without my noticing.” She could watch her own mind as well as his with her Sight, on the lookout for any changes. “There’s a nice symmetry to it, right? He sends his mage-Mindhealer, we send ours. Both sides have a hostage.”

Enara’s long white lashes flicked downward. _:Chosen, it sounds very dangerous:_

“It’s a gamble.” She glanced away, fixing her eyes on the glow of coloured lights. Not permanent mage-lights at all, or not just that; Aroon had explained that they were the life-energies of deceased shamans, left in place over the many centuries that Hot Springs Clan had called these caves home. Jisa had been very curious about how it was done, it didn’t sound like ordinary human mage-work at all, but it felt like too solemn a topic to prod at.

 _:Jisa, love:_ Enara added, _:you have your father’s direct orders not to cross the mountains:_

“Then I won’t.” She lifted her head. “We can arrange a meeting place. Tell Leareth it’s got to be within a certain range. We don’t need him and Van to be a hundred miles apart, just…out of Van’s Final Strike range, I guess.” It felt horrible to say out loud.

Van had vacillated for candlemarks yesterday on the question of whether to ask for Melody, and eventually decided against. Stef had worried that no matter how securely they passed the message, Leareth’s spies would guess the significance of her departure, and try to follow her. _Even if he’s acting in good faith,_ Vanyel had agreed, _I’d prefer he not find out where we are. Keeps us on even ground. Leareth pointed that out himself._

And Jisa was better for this role than Melody, or at least she thought so. She was a Herald, which meant she could be in reach of Enara even at many miles’ remove. She was a mage. She carried Need. Her broad, varied training might provide some critical advantage. Her powerful Empathy gave her a leg-up over Melody at reading people, as well as a last-ditch defence that even Leareth might not see coming, and her Mindhealing Gift itself was significantly stronger. Not to mention, she was young and fit and healthy, unlike her teacher.

…And Jisa was, currently, heir-consort to the throne of Valdemar. Given how Papa had looked when she left, she might be Queen sooner than she had ever dreamed or wanted. Funny how that hadn’t sunk in until now. That made it worse to risk her, but it had another side too; Leareth would know what it meant, that they were willing to send her, and take it as a far stronger peace offering.

Jisa also had the critical advantage of being _already there_. No need to worry that her departure would arouse suspicion, or that she would be followed. If any of that had happened, the damage was already done.

She hesitated, then forged ahead. “Van thinks it’s worse because of who I am. I disagree. If I tell him my identity up front, Leareth has every reason to expect that if the Death Bell rings for me,” and Treven would know instantly as well, in the worst possible way, “then Valdemar will come after him. And–” she ducked her head, “–it’s meaningful, right? Sending someone who matters. Who can actually make promises on behalf of Valdemar.”

Silence.

 _:That’s too much weight to put on his having good intentions_ : Enara sent, sharp.

Jisa folded her arms. “We could take precautions. I was thinking, maybe we could rig up a way to stay in contact the whole time.” It was too bad they didn’t have the teleson; Jisa had mulled over whether she could make a copy of it, but even Sandra had failed, and she just wasn’t that experienced with artifacts and set-spells. “If Leareth knew that our side would know the instant I was harmed, and we had his Mindhealer, he’d know he couldn’t get away with hurting me and evading retaliation. Oh, and obviously I ought to go in with guards. Not enough to actually put Leareth in personal danger, but enough that trying to kill me would be very costly.”

Her Companion’s withers swelled and fell in a heavy breath. _:Chosen, why are you so determined to be the one who takes this on?:_

Jisa stared into her blue eyes. “It’s not because I want to be a hero,” she said quietly. As far as she could trust her introspection, it really wasn’t. A year ago, maybe that would have been part of it, but she thought differently now. “Just, I think it’s the fastest way to cut through this knot, and speed matters here. It’s a gamble. So is _not_ doing it. Gambling that we’ll find some other way before it’s too late, when we’re running out of time to change the outcome here.”

With every passing day, more troops would accumulate in Waymeet. Iftel’s forces were surely on their way by now, and it was possible that their arrival would spook Leareth into an outright attack.

She closed her eyes. “Enara, there are two main scenarios, right? Two worlds we might be in. One where Leareth is telling the truth, where he’s a man of integrity, with the same ultimate goals as us, and he really does want to de-escalate,” and then they take the war to the gods together, but she wasn’t, quite, ready to stare at that head-on. “And one where he’s been lying all along, and he’s just scheming his way to the highest chance of victory. In the former, I’m _not_ putting myself in any real danger, right? And in the latter–” her eyes burned, her throat tightening, and she switched to Mindspeech, _:in the latter, what difference does it make? Maybe Valdemar could win that war, but the cost would be incredible. Losing me would be the least of it:_

 _:Treven:_ Enara pointed out, insistent.

Her heart spasmed, but she held firm. _:Treven will survive it. At least until the war’s over, one way or another. He’ll…not be thinking as clearly, but his input won’t make the difference between winning and losing. He’s not a military commander, he barely has the relevant experience to rule, he would be leaning heavily on the Senior Circle. And if he dies, there’s a protocol. Dara would land in charge until the emergency was over and there was time to search further down the line of succession. It…wouldn’t be good…but it wouldn’t break the Kingdom:_

No answer but horrified silence.

And the follow-on, drifting up just now to her attention: that the need to avenge his wife and lifebonded might drive Treven, one of the sweetest and gentlest people she knew, to be capable of far greater ruthlessness than he would otherwise – which, in the scenario where Leareth was straightforwardly an enemy, and murdered her, was exactly what they needed.

Jisa kept that particular brutal line of reasoning to herself. _:He wouldn’t want me to bow out of doing the right thing:_ she sent instead. _:Not just for fear of hurting him. He’s not selfish, or a coward. He’s a Herald. So am I. We both know what that means:_

Enara flinched back, ears flattening.

 _:Hear, hear!:_ Need interjected. Jisa had the sense of someone playfully thumping her on the shoulder, with affectionate pride. _:You’re a bloody fool, girl, but you’re also damned right:_

Enara’s tail whipped at the stone. For a long time, she didn’t answer.

 _:Fine:_ she sent finally. Quietly resigned. _:I hate it, and I wish to high hells that I saw a better way for us, but…I don’t:_ Her breath blew out, rustling the rushes on the floor. _:I won’t stop you. But I’m not arguing it to Van either. That’s up to you:_

Jisa ducked her head. “That’s fair enough.” She ought to have a little while yet before he was back, to practice her arguments.

* * *

It was around noon, and they were sitting out by the mouth of the cave, cross-legged on furs, under a weather-barrier that Vanyel had raised. Still not as cozy as in the depths of the caves, but even Stef had to admit it was worth it to see the daylight.

“So that’s my case,” Jisa finished, still steady and unwavering. “It’s a risk, but so are all our other options, and I truly think this is worth it in expectation. That it gives us the best chance. Enara agrees.”

Stef tightened his fingers around his lover’s hand. Van had listened her out with quiet patience, not interrupting once despite the surges of fear and even anger that Stef had felt through their bond. His face could have been carved from marble.

Finally, he licked his lips. “Jisa, if it were anyone but you…”

Something dangerous flashed in Jisa’s eyes. “Don’t. Van, I know you hate the thought of letting me risk my life on your behalf. That’s understandable. Just, if this is the right choice for someone else in my position, it’s the right choice for me as well. Who I am to you doesn’t change that.” She folded her arms across her chest. “If our positions were reversed, we both know exactly what choice you would make.”

“Jisa, no–”

“Father, _stop_.” Granite in her voice. “Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t walk into it unflinching, if it were on you.”

She held his eyes for a long time. Vanyel was the first to look away. “It’s not the same,” he said dully.

“It shouldn’t be any different.” Jisa softened, and slid a few inches closer. “Moral consistency, right? I know you can’t be objective about me. That you’ll never forgive yourself if something happens. Just, that doesn’t change whether or not it’s our best option.” A pause. “Van, that’s part of the sacred trust. What it means to be a Herald. We’re only human, but we have to try our best to do the right thing anyway. Even when it’s hard.”

Stef winced. _How many times did you practice that little speech?_ Jisa knew exactly what levers to pull, when it came to her father.

And, of course, it only made it worse that she wasn’t trying to be manipulative. That wasn’t who Jisa was. He had no doubt that every word was sincere, and her rehearsal would just have been honing that sincerity, crystallizing it down to the clearest version.

What felt like minutes later, Vanyel unfroze, shifting on the furs. He blinked several times.

“Damn you,” he said finally, very quietly. “I keep asking myself, who taught you to think that way. But I know the answer. Unfortunately.” He turned away, staring past the mouth of the cave, the sky crisp and blue against the jagged, ice-decorated treetops. “Jisa, I wouldn’t ever ask it of you–”

“You’re not,” Jisa said levelly. “I’m volunteering.”

Vanyel sighed. Dragged a hand over his face, then turned. “Stef? What do you think?”

 _Damn it, Van, why are you asking me?_ It felt unfair. Stef knew his answer, and he was seriously worried it was going to get him thrown into a snowbank.

_Don’t be a coward._

Stef swallowed. “Van, she had me convinced ten minutes ago. Listen – you let me come north, right? Despite the danger. If you can grant me that much respect, can’t you do the same for Jisa? Treat her as an equal, not a child. Honestly, she deserves it more than I do.”

Vanyel’s face showed little of the startled pain that Stef felt echoed in his own chest – only a scant widening of his eyes, lips parting slightly.

 _I’m sorry_. He didn’t say it, though, only looked Van in the eye. _You know I’m right._

“Fine,” Vanyel muttered, leaning back. “Every single bone in my body is screaming that I’m going to regret this, but…fine.” A bitter half-smile. “At this point, no matter what we do, there’s not going to be any shortage of regrets to go around. Can’t play it safe anymore. Might as well play to win.”

* * *

“Randi.” Dara kept her face controlled, despite the wash of pain – lately it seemed like Randi looked worse after every single night. His hands, laying overtop of the covers, were nothing but skin and bone. Eyes sunken deep in their sockets, glittering out at her, but still alert. He said nothing, only waited for her to go on.

She tugged at the collar of her tunic, tempted to strip it off entirely; as per usual, it was stiflingly hot in his suite. “I have some news,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at Treven. “Fairly critical. We received a message. From Jisa.”

That got a response; Randi grunted, lifting his head an inch from the pillow before falling back. “Oh. That is good news. Do go on–” he broke off, coughing.

Dara waited while Shavri retrieved a cup of water from the side-table and held it to the King’s lips, supporting his shoulders. The Healer was looking worse for wear as well; her flesh seemed somehow loose on her bones today, her eyes hooded.

“I’m not sure it’s good news,” she went on finally. “Biggest part up front. They claim they’ve got Vanyel back. Aren’t saying _how,_ though.”

Dara should have been happy. It seemed like her emotions were taking a holiday, though; she mostly felt numb. And suspicious. It seemed too good to be true.

Randi’s jaw went slack. He stared at her in silence for a long moment. “…Do we believe it?” he said finally. “Because – I mean, I sent Jisa to help scheme, but I don’t actually see how they could’ve pulled off a rescue at all, with the resources they have, let alone this fast.”

Dara nodded, reluctantly. She knew something Randi didn’t, and it might be very relevant. Unfortunately she had sworn not to say anything about Sola, or to approach the Suncat again on the topic, and…she was reluctant to break that promise even now. In the world where Sola had followed her suggestion, it might’ve mattered a lot to her that Dara was the sort of person who kept her promises, and, well, going back on it couldn’t change the outcome now that it was done but it still felt wrong. There was some sort of twisty reasoning there that Dara suspected she’d absorbed from Leareth via Vanyel, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“I wouldn’t put much past Stef and Jisa,” Dara said. “If it’s not true, though, then maybe it wasn’t sent by Jisa at all, and Leareth just somehow pieced together that she’d left Haven, and what that meant.”

“Is that possible?” Randi’s eyes focused a little more sharply. “He would need to know about the elementals. And have her code-book, too.”

Dara clearly hadn’t thought it through, which was embarrassing. “Mmm. Good point. I mean, seems likely he can talk to elementals, White Winds isn’t the only school that does it. But you’re right, it would be trickier for him to learn that was the expected message channel, much less have Jisa’s code, if he didn’t have _her_. I…guess the more likely option for it being faked, then, is that Leareth got his hands on Jisa, and she’s a prisoner, or…compromised, maybe with compulsions.” Another, almost more worrying possibility dawns on her. “Or, gods, maybe they _do_ have Vanyel but it’s a trap, somehow, and Leareth let him go on purpose because it serves his ends I don’t know. All I can hope is that Stef would at least be _suspicious_ if it’d seemed too easy…” 

Randi nodded slowly. “I hope it’s all true, and Van’s safe, but you’re right, it’s not proof, and it’s weird enough that we should tread carefully.” His voice hinted at some of the same detached numbness Dara felt, not daring to hope too much yet. “What else does it say?”

“Not a lot. That Leareth only wanted to talk safely, and they have some not-yet-conclusive evidence it wasn’t him after all, and Vanyel isn’t coming back to Haven because they think he can get stronger verification.” That part had mostly made her more suspicious. From Randi’s narrowed eyes, he felt the same way.

“And it’s asking us to keep this secret, and not to visibly change our preparations yet in response,” Dara added. “Either to avoid giving it away, or because they don’t think it’s enough proof, they didn’t say.”

Randi nodded, tiredly. “All right. There’s more? Tell me the rest, please, while I still have the stamina. We can talk about whether and how to act on the bit about Vanyel later.”

Nod. “Leareth’s troop numbers – no, I don’t have the faintest idea how Jisa could’ve got this information either, she didn’t say and presumably _Vanyel_ wouldn’t have known even if he’s really with them, but if it was really her who send the message, uncoerced, then presumably she isn’t making it up. She claims his forces are staged well north of the mountains, mostly not near the pass, but she thinks he has more than thirty thousand men. And at least three hundred mages.”

Shavri shuddered. The first indication that she was listening at all. She was so absorbed in Randi, turned inward; her eyes weren’t focusing on anything else.

Dara had already briefed Treven, late the night before as soon as Brightstar had finished translating the message, carried verbatim by a helpful air-elemental, from its cipher. Brightstar, Dara thought, didn’t really believe it, but mostly wasn’t processing it at all.

Treven had taken it calmly enough, both the part about Vanyel, good news if it was real, and the rest. Dara would almost rather have seen him break down in tears, or shout; it might have been reassuring, knowing that she wasn’t the only one quaking in her boots over this particular revelation.

It might not be true, of course, in the scenario where the message was faked, but it wasn’t like they ought to be any less scared there. Dara wasn’t sure if Leareth’s incentives would be to exaggerate or play down the size of his army; she could think of arguments for both, and reasoning about it more just left her going in circles.

It didn’t seem like Randi was going to speak, though he was still looking at her.

Dara lifted her arm half-heartedly, and let it fall. “Jisa said she could give more detail when she meets Brightstar on the Moonpaths. That’s in three more days. So I suppose we wait. If Jisa does show up for it, that’s evidence it’s really her, I think.” Though not conclusive that she wasn’t under a compulsion, or that Van hadn’t been released in some ploy.

A fractional nod. Randi watched her expectantly.

“Moving on. We got a diplomatic note from King Festil of Hardorn. A very politely phrased request to know what in all hells is going on, and whether it’ll affect them. I don’t know what to say, other than ‘we hope not.’ In hindsight it might’ve been good to formally notify them sooner, given that we are technically allies, but we weren’t expecting any aid from that direction and it slipped my mind.”

“Hmm.” Randi massaged one wrist with the other, wincing. “We’d better send a reply. Can I have you draft something with Treven, and bring it to me for my seal?” His voice was mild, with no judgement for her lapse.

“Of course.” She straightened her spine. “Routine news, I’ll hit it fast. Seven thousand troops in Waymeet, give or take. It’s getting _very_ crowded, but they’re managing. We’ve moved all of Lissa’s mercenaries, and their mages, which means we can make much faster progress on paving the damned road, the main limit is not having enough _vrondi-_ talismans to go around. We’re adding almost two miles per day.” Pause for breath. “We sent a dozen White Winds mages Gating back to Rethwellan. Half of them will stay at the school and wait for the Shin’a’in, the rest will ride up to Petras for whenever Lythiaren is ready to transport her people. We should have both groups here within the week.”

 _If Leareth gives us that long_ , was the unspoken addition. Twenty-three days, now, since Savil’s death. Nearly a month. Why, exactly, was he letting them have this time to prepare?

 _Maybe he didn’t intend to go to war at all._ The quiet whisper of confusion and daring hope, always present in the back of her mind, louder now after the most recent news. Leareth _should_ have attacked right away, if he’d wanted the highest chances of winning; he should have been able to time the attack to when he was ready. The fact that no army had moved on them was information, pointing in one direction – not conclusive, not yet, but nudging her toward greater uncertainty, which she tried to hold onto in the back of her mind even as they prepared.

It wasn’t clear to her that it changed the necessary preparations at all, yet. They couldn’t afford _not_ to ready their forces; the downside of failing to defend Valdemar was too high. Rolan agreed.

…Even if that same preparation might be itself what escalated toward war? It hurt, remembering Urtho’s tale.

Focus. “Randi, another thing. Katha has a draft of a message that we could potentially send to Leareth. It’s pretty minimal, but confirms our intention not to attack first, or to stage any significant body of troops past our actual Border. So we’d need to decide if that _is_ our intention. An optional clause we could put in is regarding the teleson. Since we should have it back within the week, we could offer to send it with someone, or leave one half in the message location for his people to pick up.”

Randi blinked at her. “Who would carry this message?”

“Katha has an agent who’s willing.” Dara clasped her hands behind her back, forcing her spine to stay relaxed. “He’s very experienced. Understands the risk. He isn’t Gifted, and conveniently, he’s almost entirely ignorant of the situation. Doesn’t know the first thing about our tactics up north, since he’s been head-down in Lake Evendim territory for the last two years, trying to infiltrate one of their damned pirate rings, and before that he was in Karsite hill-territory.” She looked away. “He’s willing to sacrifice his life, and in the worst case, Leareth’s people won’t get much use from his mind.”

Randi’s slow breath rasped slightly in his chest. He licked his lips. “What does Treven think?”

Dara swallowed. “He’s for it. Thinks we should’ve done it a week ago, and the most recent news only makes that case stronger.”

Silence.

Randi closed his eyes. “All right. Hold a secret vote at the Council meeting tomorrow, see if they sign off on it. I know you’d prefer to just move on it, so would I, but we can’t afford to alienate the rest of our own government. Happy now?”

 _It’ll do._ “Thank you. I think it’s the right choice.”

“Probably.” Randi’s eyes glinted at her, hooded. “In expectation, given that the downside isn’t that big. Still, I have to think it’s more likely than not something unfortunately will befall our messenger, and I never want to send _anyone_ to their death. If there were a way to Fetch it there, leave it without risking anyone…”

 _Sola._ Dara started to open her mouth, and caught herself; she wasn’t going to drag the Suncat into this again. “The gryphons?” she offered instead. “I don’t know what their options are for moving unseen, but they can fly. One of Skatashan’s fighters could make it there in a day. Literally drop a message, from the air…”

Approval flared in Randi’s eyes. “Talk to her, then. See if they’re willing.”

Unfortunately, Dara thought, it would be a lot worse if one of them was caught. Skatashan might be brave but she wasn’t stupid, and letting Iftel’s secrets fall into Leareth’s hands was a very, very bad idea.

Moving on. “We’ve translated a significant chunk of the old texts Van found,” Dara said. “Unfortunately, it’s not that useful – I mean, not for our current purposes. There’s a _lot_ of writings about governance. Education, economics, even an entire treatise on farming and crop fertility. If Valdemar survives this, we’ve got a treasure-trove for the next fifty years of reforms.” She felt her lips tug into a lopsided smile. “To the extent we’re willing to trust any of his advice, though we’ve got every reason to believe he knows how to run an empire. Anyway. The rest is mostly histories; I almost want to call it journals. Katha thinks they must be his records of past lives. Given that we know his method of immortality doesn’t allow him to keep all his memories intact, she’s guessing that he leaves multiple copies of those records in various locations, in case some are lost. Fascinating to a historian, but they’re not the most useful for war preparation.”

They weren’t just fascinating to historians – Dara had stayed up ill-advisedly late the night before, just as captivated as she had been by Urtho’s diaries. Surely those records would tell them _something_ about the man’s character… They were mostly pretty dry, so far. Records of events, not his feelings.

“There’s _some_ writing on magic,” she added. “Notes on permanent Gates,” which would’ve been very helpful a few years ago, and were less so now, “and some writings on blood-magic. Lots of overlap with the Eastern Empire textbooks. Oh, and a treatise on military tactics. Keiran’s already read through it – she says it’s quite reminiscent of Seldasen, though it predates him by hundreds of years. The materials in the cave were nine hundred years old, so we have to assume they’re out of date with regards to his current thinking, but I’d still recommend having copies made and sent to our commanders up north. Might give some insight on how he’s likely to approach this.”

Another minimal nod, but she wasn’t sure that Randi was really listening, anymore. She had no doubt that he could repeat back every word she had said, and yet, more and more often lately it seemed like his attention was on something else, past the edge of her vision. Past the edge of the world, maybe.

The night before, she had finally pinned Gemma down and demanded a straight answer on the matter of the King’s health. _He could go any day,_ the Healer had said with a resigned shrug. _A month at most._

It was the worst possible time, and she doubted that was an accident. Whether it was Leareth’s doing or not, the timing of their emergency was enemy action.

“Is that all?” Randi said, pulling her out of her reverie.

“Sorry, I was woolgathering.” She ran a hand through her hair, already sweat-dampened. “One last thing.” Embarrassingly, Dara hadn’t thought of it on her own and neither had anyone else, apparently; Melody had needed to prompt her.

“Hmm?”

Dara steeled herself. “Arkady. We had talked about unblocking his mage-gift and sending him north, if we ended up in the eventuality of war. Also, it seems we’re sending his sweetheart out east – he’s still seeing Ariel, incredibly.”

A flicker of Randi’s eyebrow. “Ariel… Van’s niece, no?” He rubbed his eyes. “We’re graduating her? Reckon I should know that, sorry.” A apologetic grimace.

“Anyway…” Dara squirmed. “Arkady went to Melody and volunteered himself. Said he knows he’s not the best mage around, but that Savil always said he had a flair for combat magic, and he can throw fireballs at our enemies if that’s got any chance of turning the tide.” A sigh escaped her lips. “He seems really cut up about Savil’s death. Guess he must be more attached than I’d thought – oh, and of course Ariel was devastated. Anyway. I worry how much he’s motivated by revenge for her, but, what do you think?”

Silence.

Randi lifted a hand to rub his temple. “How big of a difference will one mage make, at this point? We’re not in the desperate straits we were before.”

“No, we aren’t,” Dara agreed.

“From what I understand,” Randi added, “he is Adept-potential, but not Adept-trained, and he’s…not easy to work with.”

Dara swallowed a snort of not-laughter. “No. Honestly, I would pity the Guard-platoon that had him as their assigned mage.” She felt a bit guilty about maligning Arkady, when he had just shown considerable courage, but still.

Indecision shifted to a resigned sigh. “Then let’s not. Thank him for his courage in volunteering, and tell him we’re fine for now. Find him something useful to do here if you can, I suppose, if he wants to help that badly.”

Nod. “That’s all, then.”

“Thank you.” Randi had already closed his eyes. “I’ll…keep thinking about it. The first part. I reckon it’s not that actionable right now, though, given the uncertainties. We just have to hope that we’ll know more soon.”

“One way or another,” Dara agreed, half to herself. “Get some rest.”

* * *

Vanyel rested against Yfandes’ flank, Stef’s hand in his. Clinging to both scant comforts. Stef was leaning on Aroon as well, the _kyree_ neuter curled around him.

_We’re really doing this._

Jisa was too calm; it was quietly horrifying, watching her face, well, Clara’s face, as she explained the basics of their plan to Hyrryl and the _kyree_ scouts. Hyrryl, damn her, had shown no sign of shock or horror; if anything, there was quiet approval in her forward-pointed ears and lowered jaw, though Vanyel wasn’t entirely sure how to read the _kyree_ expressions.

“Getting your help with this does mean revealing your existence and some of your capabilities to Leareth,” his daughter finished, apologetic. “So it’s up to you, whether you’re willing to risk that. I can take some basic precautions. For example, I can go in and scramble Van’s memories a bit, so that they won’t know where your base is. Getting rid of _all_ the memories of you is beyond my capabilities, sorry, and even if I could, on our own we don’t have the magic, or the warm bodies, that we would need to pull off this exchange safely, well, as safely as possible.” She folded her hands over her knee, and fell silent.

Hyrryl had watched with ears pricked up and her head tilted to one side, lips occasionally drawing back from her impressive teeth. Now, she lowered herself to the cave-floor, draping her body flat and resting her muzzle on the rushes.

 _:It is not free of danger:_ she agreed. _:For my people or for you. And yet, you make a very convincing argument that the risk is worth taking:_ Her shoulder twitched, fur rippling. _:I know not what to think of this Leareth. He is not a friend to our people. Nonetheless, were there any way he need not be our enemy in full, I would take that path:_

Vanyel frowned. He had found it very confusing, trying to parse Hyrryl’s attitude toward the man. Maybe because she didn’t seem to reason or feel quite like a human – he kept feeling like they weren’t _quite_ on the same page, exchanging words that almost but not quite landed. Still, it seemed like she was able to reason about it, without the reflexive horror or denial that had marked so many of his discussions with the other Heralds.

 _:You will need a location to meet:_ Hyrryl went on. _:We know the mountains well; Aroon in particular might help you decide upon a place. Perhaps better if it is some distance from here. I can cloak your arrival and departure, so that you will not be followed. Jisa, we might send you with a small guard of our scouts, who might hold off physical attack, and there are certain magics I could cast to ensure that we will know if you are harmed. Regardless of what shields he might place in the way:_

Vanyel leaned forward. “What kind of spell?” Something that could send a message through any type of shield sounded _very_ valuable.

 _:It is an ancient rite of our people:_ Hyrryl explained. _:Akin to the talisman I gave to our Singer here, that he might Call to us. The focus will remain with myself, in this case, while Jisa departs. It will ask a drop of Jisa’s blood, and thus form a binding with her life-force. This binding cannot be undone without access to the artifact, and the traces of magic on her will be difficult to detect at all; it ought be impossible for any mage not of our people, yet with your Leareth I am reluctant to say what is possible and what is not:_ A rumble deep in her throat, that might have been the _kyree_ equivalent of laughter. _:Any changes to her condition – pain, serious injury or death – will be reflected by the talisman I carry. It would also allow me to determine her location, with the use of a more extensive spell, were it necessary to mount a rescue:_

“Fascinating.” Vanyel glanced over at Jisa, noticing the same curiosity in her eyes, then back. It sounded too good to be true. “Er, if they do notice the spell, or if Leareth learns of it from her surface thoughts, is there any way they could follow the link backward to track your location?”

A decisive twitch of her ears. _:No. That is known to be impossible:_

Vanyel was dubious, but he let it slide – taking that risk was up to Hyrryl, really. “What are the downsides, then? I mean, why don’t you use this for all your scouts all the time, just in case?”

A slow blink. _:That is a good question. It is fuelled directly from her life-energies – not her reserves of mage-energy, but her life-force at a deeper level. The drain is slow, and ought not cause harm if it is used for a day, yet over a longer period it becomes substantial:_ Her tail flicked back and forth, lazily. _:Also, it is a difficult casting. I will need several days to create such a talisman:_

Vanyel nodded, somewhat relieved. “So you’ll dismantle the spell as soon as Jisa gets back, then. In the meantime – how long would it take to locate her, if we learn she’s in trouble?”

 _:It is not instantaneous:_ Hyrryl stretched and settled back on her haunches. _:Minutes, if I am already prepared, candlemarks otherwise:_ Her ears twitched. _:To prepare by casting the first part of the search-spell is very tiring, but for this, I would do so:_

“Thank you.” Vanyel glanced sideways at Stef. “Still, we can’t guarantee her safety once we’ve split up–”

“Father, we knew that already,” Jisa interjected. “I’m hardly defenceless. Even if his mages have me outclassed, I can boost my Mind-Gifts with node-energy–”

“Not if you’re behind shields,” Vanyel muttered darkly.

A pause, her lips moving silently. “Then I’ll cast the Journeyman spell before I go in,” she said firmly. “That’ll give me plenty in reserves. And I’ll have Need with me.”

“Assuming Leareth agrees to that.” Vanyel grimaced. “He may not want her near him. Hopefully I can negotiate something in advance – if it’s not a surprise and he can plan his own precautions, he might be more willing – but that does kind of depend on conveniently having the dream. Exchanging any kind of complicated plans with just the message-drop is going to be very frustrating.”

“Speaking of that,” Jisa said, tugging at a lock of red hair. “I’ve thought about it, and I really think we ought to warn Randi that we’re doing this. In case it goes completely sideways and _all_ of us die, somehow, he needs to have a way of knowing what happened.”

“And be ready to retaliate,” Stef said. He hadn’t been speaking much during their meeting; Vanyel had no idea what he was thinking.

“Jisa, when were you going to talk to Brightstar?” he said.

“Three days from now.” Jisa looked over at Hyrryl. “If it’s going to take days to make the talisman, and presumably to figure out the exact plan and get Leareth to agree to it, that should be all right.”


End file.
